S W I T C H
by iMisa
Summary: Something big is going down in lil' ol' SunnyDale. When a mysterious talisman appears out of nowhere, it manages to stir up a lot of trouble. Rated M for : sexual content, violence/gore, language. PAIRING : Dawn x Spike
1. Prologue

Gray-blue eyes widened, and the sound of metal colliding with cement ricocheted throughout the crypt. Dawn Summer's involuntarily relinquished her sword, and weaponless, she stood under the very close scrutiny of the edge of another's blade. A dark chuckle filled the silence after the clatter had ceased, and Dawn finally lifted her gaze from the blade held at her throat. A pair of blue eyes met her stare evenly, nothing but amusement sparkling within their depths. It took a moment for the girl to catch her breath, and her surprise—momentary fear, vanished.

"Spike!" she snapped, lifting a hand. Pushing the dagger aside, which he let her do, she stepped out of his range and crossed her arms. Struggling to keep the pout from tugging down the corners of her lips, she huffed before shooting him a very lethal glare. If looks could kill, he would be dead. Again.

Spike's posture changed immediately, and his body dropped into the familiar, lazy slouch the young girl was used to. He spun the dagger expertly through his fingers, before giving her a lopsided, amused smile.

"What is it nibblet," he began innocently, "I thought you said you could take on the Big Bad?"

"Well the Big Bad told me," she retorted, her shoulders stiffening, "that he was gonna' play fair! Going all speedy-vampire on me is so not fair."

Head tilted back, Spike snorted before shrugging his broad shoulders. Tossing the dagger carelessly behind him on the couch, the peroxide blond advanced, stepping over Dawn's own weapon as he did so. Dawn refused to move, spreading her feet apart in an almost defiant gesture, gaze steady and chin tilted upwards ever so slightly.

"Life isn't fair, Pet," was his quiet response, and he lifted his hands to rest them on her small shoulders. She tried to repress a shiver, and focused instead on making her glare more deadly. This only seemed to amuse the vampire, for he chuckled and leaned down to give her a soft peck on the forehead.

"Your sister wants me to show you how to play with swords," he began dryly, his hold on her slackening before he stepped back. Offering a shrug, accompanied by a mildly baffled look, he continued. "I don't think it would be very fair to take it easy on you. Any other vampire certainly wouldn't, you're a dish, is what you are."

Flushing, Dawn cleared her throat, before shifting her footing. Ignoring his comment—or choosing to assume it meant she was simply _food _as opposed to anything else—she turned on her heel, back to him, more so to hide the blush creeping up her throat than anything.

"Yeah well, I could totally handle myself." she exclaimed, defiantly. Struggling to keep the anger in her voice, she frowned before looking upwards, to the ceiling of the crypt. "Any vampire that got in my way would be dust in less than a minute."

"Right," Spike responded automatically with little sincerity, before shaking his head. He didn't seem to notice her reaction to his comment, and so relaxing ever so slightly, she turned to make her way towards the couch. Eyes fixed to the floor, she scuttled over before plopping down with little grace onto the piece of furniture. She could feel his eyes on her as she did so, and drawing her knees self consciously up to her chest, she cast him a nervous, side-ways glance.

"What?"

"Nothin', love, just wondering when your sis is going to get here. We're finished, and it's getting a little late."

"You want me gone?"

She couldn't help the disappointment that dripped from her words.

"Ah hell no," he responded easily, glancing from the door towards the black television screen. Rubbing his stomach idly, he yanked his leather coat from the arm of the couch and fished around in the pockets. Pulling out a pack of smokes, he slid one between his lips before sidling over and dropping beside her. "I just don't want anything to happen to you on your way home 's all. Not that Buffy couldn't handle a few beasties, but word round the cemetery is that somthin' big is about to take place in lil' ol' Sunny Dale. An' soon, too."

Raising her eyebrows, Dawn couldn't help but ask, "Again?"

Lighting his cigarette, Spike cast her a sidelong glance before nodding.

"Yeah," he responded after a moment, a cloud of smoke escaping from between his lips. "But those bugger's won't tell me a damn thing. Say I've switched sides or some such rubbish."

"Well you kind of _have_ gotten into a habit of dusting vamps with my sister," Dawn replied brightly with a smile. Her next words were cut off by an annoyed glance, and he took a long drag before responding, expression hidden behind the smoke that wafted from his lips.

"Yeah well that's all fine and dandy for _you_ lot, in't it? It's kept my ass alive more 'an anything else has, too. My reputation is bloody ruined now, though. Guess I can't really go back unless I redeem myself."

The bitterness in Spike's tone surprised her, and growing cautious of the subject, she asked with hesitance, "How would you do something like that?"

There was silence then; long, thick, and contemplative as the vampire thought of an appropriate answer.

"Probably somethin' that would prove I'm not pussyfooting round the Slayer," he mused aloud. "Show those bastards I'm serious about what I say and what I do."

"What do you do?"

Spike's expression became more vivid as the smoke cleared. He watched it rise in lazy, spiralling tendrils towards the ceiling, before flashing Dawn a wicked smile. He stretched languidly out, arms raised upwards before settling them behind his head.

"Anything I bloody well want, bit."

Intrigued now more than anything, Dawn shrugged. Letting her long legs drop to the floor, she picked up the dagger that separated the small space betwixt them, and began to inspect it very carefully.

"Funny," she began, trying to hide the amusement in her voice. "'Cuz I was pretty sure that chip in your head kept you from doing a lot of stuff you want to do."

Spike's countenance changed then from smug to annoyed, and he turned to face her, eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

"Now you listen here, platelet," he started angrily, but before he could let into a rant, the door to the crypt slammed open. Dawn jumped, and Spike looked in annoyance to where none other than Buffy herself stood, arms crossed and an expectant look on her face. Green eyes narrowing, she shot an irritated look to Dawn, before addressing Spike.

"How did the training go?"

"Bloody well fine and dandy," the now cranky Vampire muttered, pulling himself up from the couch. Dawn eyed the languid, graceful movements for perhaps a moment longer than she should have.

"Really?" Buffy responded, dry sarcasm dripping from her tone. She stepped down, closer towards them before her gaze fell to the sword, which lay at her feet. "You guys sure do look _busy_. This isn't exactly what I'd had in mind when I'd ask you to show her how to protect herself, Spike."

"What are you going on about?" he spat, before his eyes followed the line of her body down to her feet. "Oh _bollocks_. You're going to stand there now and tell me we've done nothing this entire evening?"

"Well I come in and you're sitting on the couch. Talking. What else am I going to think? I should have totally _known_ you'd rather watch some stupid thing on T.V than put in some actual effort."

Speechless, Spike stammered for a few moments before lifting an accusing finger. Before he had the chance to say anything he would regret though, Dawn slid over and squeezed her way between the pair. Fingers settling onto her sisters slender shoulders, she offered a quick smile, before nudging Buffy back towards the door.

"We practiced, Buffy, I just got tired a few minutes ago and asked if we could finish early. He knew you'd be coming to get me soon, too, so he said it was okay."

Her expression was doubtful, but the firm set of her jaw lifted some, and her angry scowl turned into something more along the lines of a pout. The tension drained from her shoulders, and she allowed Dawn to continue leading her backwards. "That better be true," she called past Dawn's shoulder. "Or I'll come back here tomorrow and kick your ass for wasting her time and my trust!"

"Oh Buffy," Dawn mumbled as she finally pushed her beyond the threshold. She cast a glance over her shoulder—Spike stood there, still looking as if he had something to say, but she never gave him a chance.

"See you tomorrow, Spike!" she called, before running after her sister.


	2. CH1 : Into the Dark

**Chapter 1 : Into the Dark **

It had been almost two months since she had started her midnight-training sessions. Despite the fact that it had been her idea in the first place—a lame excuse to get away from her sister, and spend more time with Spike—Buffy had taken the bait, and not only agreed to let Dawn go, but had actually gotten into quite a good argument with Giles about it. She hadn't been surprised by his reaction. Stoney-faced, expression offended if anything else, brows drawn together and lips curled down into a frown. No, she could handle that. She had even prepared herself a good story as to _why_ she should go to the Big Bad's crypt all alone and train with him. She hadn't needed to use it though, because _Buffy_ had thought it was a good idea.

"What better way to learn or practice than with an actual Vampire?" she had quipped, upon Giles's blatant rejection of the idea. "And it's not like he can actually _hurt_ her. It's a great idea. He can finally be of some actual use to us. Free baby-sitter, with built-in benefits."

Granted Dawn hadn't liked the 'baby-sitter' bit—(she had just turned 16, after all)—she'd smiled and held her tongue. Her decision had been a good one, for about twenty minutes later, the Watcher's resolve crumbled, and he'd muttered an approval before stalking out of the Summer's home. No doubt to return to his own and cool down with a cup of tea or something.

She enjoyed her time with Spike; maybe a little more than she would admit to anyone else. And, of course she could see the improvement in her tactics and the way she held and manipulated the weapons she worked with. Spike had commented more than once on her quick reflexes (and didn't fail to mention right after, that the Slayer was the only _real_ human who could dodge his attacks), and it made her happy. Buffy noticed her progress as well, so the lessons continued.

But the late nights and early mornings were definitely getting to her. It took about 4 snooze-buttons and an angry call from the kitchen to rouse her from her bed Thursday morning, and one quick glance in the mirror set a permanent grimace on her face. Her skin was pale—waxen looking even, hair in utter disarray from sleep, and dark circles under her eyes. The scrutiny was denied further when Buffy barged into her room though, and jumping back from her dresser, Dawn yelled in annoyance.

"Tara and Willow are downstairs, Willow's going to take you school. You've got like half an hour to get ready, so hurry up and come eat something."

"Get out of my room!" the younger girl hollered, throwing with all of her strength one of the pillows lying on her bed. It smacked Buffy—who had been holding a bowl, containing something that looked like the consistency of pancake mix—and she stepped back, before whipping around on her heels.

"You're such a brat!" she hissed. "You totally just like, _ruined_ my pancakes. Fine, starve, see if I care!"

Dawn threw another pillow, which hit the door and slammed it closed. She stood still, waiting until she could hear her sister stomping down the stairs.

"Something is seriously wrong with that girl!" she could hear her huff. "See if I every try and make breakfast again!"

Dawn tuned out the conversation, which floated up through the floorboards like air. Glancing at the clock, she realized in alarm that Buffy hadn't been joking. Opting for a quick shower and a hasty choice of clothes, she pulled her hair into a messy bun, yanked on some tennis shorts and a loosely fitted hoodie before dashing down the stairs. Tara's laughter was prominent as she slid into the kitchen, snatched her backpack from the floor and scurried past the counter (where she pulled a pancake from a steaming pile), and slipping into her sandals, called over her shoulder, "Bye!"

Willow gave Tara a light peck on the lips before slipping into a light jacket herself. Despite the sunny sky above them, there was a certain chill to the air.

"Have a good day at school," Tara chirped, and Dawn couldn't help but smile as Willow followed her out of the kitchen.

"Aren't you gonna' say good bye to Buffy?" Willow asked curiously as they slid into her brand-new convertible.

"No," Dawn responded carelessly, as she pulled her seat-belt on. "She doesn't care if I starve, so why should I say good bye?"

Willow rolled her eyes, but said nothing as she pulled out of the driveway. Dawn spent the ride in silence, and as soon as the car had drawn up to the curb, she'd nearly slid out of the passenger's side.

"Thanks for the ride, Willow," she said, leaning into the car. "It was really nice of you, especially since you and Tara were kind of..."

"Just go to class," Willow responded quickly with a nervous smile, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Or my driving you will have gone to waste. Go, go!"

Flashing her a grin, the young girl turned on her heels before marching up the walkway. The bell had yet to ring, for students still loitered in the boulevard, as well as near the doors smoking or chatting. Adjusting her backpack onto her shoulders, she kept a smile plastered to her face as she went inside, waving to a few girls as she made her way to homeroom. It was only when she had slid into her seat, and the bell rang that she'd realized she'd not only forgotten her lunch money, but her measly pancake as well. Willow wasn't going to be pleased; she'd probably left it on the seat.

**

He paced the length of his crypt several times, boots falling heavily onto the cold floor as he crossed the threshold. Arms crossed over his chest, Spike did his best to fight off the agitation that was building inside him. He knew it was still Daylight out, but he couldn't bring himself to sleep. Hell, _Passions_ was on and he couldn't force himself to relax long enough to watch that!

"Bloody hell," he growled, pivoting on his heel and slamming his fist into one of the several pillars that held up the ceiling. A piece of stone crumbled under his fist like chalk, and he grimaced, pulling his scratched knuckles out of the dent. The first time he'd gotten wind of The Mirror Talisman being in Sunny Dale, he hadn't paid much attention to it. It was an interesting weapon—relatively harmless, for those who _did_ know how to use it—were it not for the fact that it was nothing but a mere rumour to begin with. Or at least, that's what Spike had thought, until seeing it with his own eyes the previous night.

--

After the little Nibblet had managed to pull Buffy from his living quarters, irritated and annoyed at not being given the privilege to verbally let his anger out on the Slayer, he'd stalked from his crypt with no particular destination in mind. His feet led him to a Demon bar he'd frequented often, and one where he was not exactly welcome since his change of perspective on the good and the bad. He'd ignored the hostile stares he received upon entry, and marching up to the bar ordered a shot of gin and tonic, which he knew was going to taste like horse manure. He downed it anyway, hid his grimace, and glanced around.

The bar was dimly lit, as per the usual, and several clusters of demons sat near the back of the room. He could hear their low voices, small murmurs, before one of them looked up and caught Spike's eyes. Yellow eyes flashed, and Spike grinned easily; nothing to be afraid of. His mood was quite sour, if the demon wanted a fight he'd be sure to get one. Their gazes remained locked for perhaps a moment longer, before the demon stood and excused himself from his table.

"Do you have a problem?" he growled, marching up to the bar. Spike couldn't particularly tell what kind of demon he was—there were an interesting combination of characteristics. The facial and bodily structure seemed almost human, while the skin was green and scarred. His eyes were yellow, and as his lips drew back into a snarl, Spike saw that his teeth were crooked, sharp and black. Intrigued now, he spun on his stool and leaned back, elbows resting along the bar.

"Problem? Me? Just checking out my surroundings. Couldn't help but overhear you and your mates over there goin' on 'bout some sort of Talisman."

"That's none of your concern," the other spat, a sort of reddish brown sludge slipping from the corners of his lips, "We're across the room, an' you've got no business eavesdroppin', vampire."

"The Mirror Talisman is kind of a big deal, don't you think?" Spike lied, ignoring the Demon's irritation. "It's existence hasn't even been officially confirmed though, and something like _you_ is trying to get your grubby paws on it?" An indignant snort. "Best of luck with _that_ one."

"For your information," the demon quipped, clawed hand reaching into a well-worn jacket, "we've already _got_ the Mirror Talisman."

When he pulled his hand from within the confines of his pocket, the Demon presented the item for Spike to observe. Although his grip was death-like (Spike could see the white of the knuckles through his off-coloured skin), Spike had no intentions of trying to remove the instrument from within the others grasp. He was too shocked. It was definitely like the tool depicted in the ancient texts; a slender shaft, carved out of silver, intricate designs leading all the way up to the sphere that was melded to the top. It's reflective surface stared back at Spike tauntingly, and his blue eyes roamed over it in fascination, and then mild horror.

"What's a Demon like you planning on doing with a thing like 'at? Ain't gonna' do you much good, I reckon."

"It will benefit everyone," the Demon sneered, "once we rid the Slayer of her powers. Then, nothing can get in our way. Sunny Dale will belong to _us_."

Alarmed, Spike dropped his feet to the floor and stood. He cleared about four inches over the other Demon easily, which made him feel more confident about the sharp turn in direction this conversation had suddenly taken.

"Now listen here," he began, his voice calm but dangerously low, "Regardless of whether that's an authentic piece of work or not, if I catch wind of somethin' happening to the Slayer, it'll be your head. Understand, Demon?"

Yellow eyes sparkled with amusement, but the creature could sense Spike's hostility for he returned the Mirror Talisman to his pocket. Lips drawing back into a sneer, he let out a dark chuckle that was none too pleasant to the ears.

"You must be _Spike_," he jeered, "I've 'eard about you. You're the Slayer's Lap Dog, aren't ya? Every Demon in town knows how you've lost your backbone, fallen in love with that pretty little blonde girl. You won't even harm a human now!"

Spike's jaw clenched and cocking his head, he narrowed his gaze. The other didn't seem to catch his annoyance, because he pressed on the issue. Spike's fingers twitched.

"She probably sees you as nothing, you know, like the dirt you are. Just _using_ you to her convenience. It's the only reason you're not dust, and you—"

His words were cut-off mid sentence, as Spike's fist molded to the side of his face. He let out a pained squeal and tumbled back. Losing his balance, he tripped over a chair and landed face-down along the floorboards. Spike flexed his fingers before coming to stand above him. The Demon scrambled backwards a few feet, before glaring upwards. His cheek was bloody, and the creature spat onto the floor—a few gnarled teeth mixed in with the saliva.

"Let's get one thing straight, shall we?" Spike asked cheerfully, cracking the knuckles of his other hand. "I'm still the _Big Bad_, and I've got some very damn good reasons for doing what I do. You've got some pretty messed up interpretations of the situation, so I'll be more 'an delighted to set 'em straight."

As he delivered a blow to the Demon's side, he cast a glance over his shoulder. The other Demon's he had been talking to earlier were inching close, but, he noticed, they were of the same species. Smaller than him. And Spike was a very _pissed off_ Vampire at the moment, and he reasoned they could see that. Why take an unnecessary beating?

"First and foremost," he grunted, driving his heel into the Demon's hip, "the Slayer is alive because I _allow her to be_. She has _no_ idea what's coming her way, and you'd be wise to keep your mouth shut about things you don't bloody well know about."

Kneeling down, he pulled the Demon up to his feet. Fingers curling into the worn jacket, he jerked the other violently a few times, before allowing his human countenance to disappear. Yellow eyes met another pair of gleaming orbs as he slid into his game face, and Spike snarled, drawing back his lips to expose his own set of razor sharp fangs. "Just because I don't hurt humans _now_ doesn't mean that won't change in the future. And I'll have you know I've developed a liking for killing things like you."

"Okay, okay," the Demon blubbered, lifting his clawed hands in surrender. "I understand."

"You'd be a fool not to," Spike quipped, but he released his hold on the Demon. He had shakily stumbled away from him, knocking over several tables and chairs, before his friends had grabbed onto him and helped lead him out of the building.

Still irritated, Spike rolled his shoulders and turned back to the bar. Several other Vampire's lounged there, talking to one another seemingly uninterested in what had just taken place. The bartender looked annoyed, but said nothing as Spike stalked out of the facility. It was only when he entered the Graveyard that he'd realized he'd forgotten to grab the Talisman. _Bollocks._

**

School had been absolute _hell_. By the time the final bell rang, Dawn was almost ready to burst into tears. Some days she thought that going out at night and patrolling with her sister would be safer than spending an entire day inside, trapped at her desk and listening to her teaches lecture her hour after hour.

Her grades had been steadily declining since her late-night visits to Spike's Crypt, but she'd cleverly managed to distract Buffy when her last report card had come through. Distracting Buffy wasn't really hard to do, unless it was a life-or-death situation. She'd simply commented on her new top, and the Slayer had launched into a heroic (and dramatic) story of how she had to fight another girl to get it, because it had been on sale.

Her teachers were no longer sympathetic to her case, and the piles of homework that went uncompleted continued to grow. Her worries vanished as she stepped out of the classroom though, and Dawn even managed a smile as her friend Jessica flounced down the hall, pushing past a large majority of the student body to get to her.

"Soooo," Jessica grinned, falling into step beside her, "any plans for tonight?"

Dawn's smile widened as a particular blond vampire with a cocky grin flashed through her . She didn't leave for his Crypt until around ten, though, so she was safe.

"Nope, why? Wanted to do something?"

"Well, actually," Jessica began mischievously, "Derek asked me to go to the cemetery with him tonight, and you know Joshua? He's _totally_ into you. We're going to do a seance, and he suggested you come with us."

"Really?" Dawn squeaked, eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs. "Or are you just saying that?"

"I'm not even lying," Jessica swore, lifting her hands up in protest. Large brown eyes stared into Dawn's own liquid blue-grey, and she continued. "He said it himself, so I said I'd ask you."

They stopped walking as Dawn reached her locker, and turning the dial she snapped the lock open, yanking the door away from the small space with a grimace. A few papers fluttered from the shelf on the top, and kneeling down, she quickly stuffed them inside. Unloading another large stack of papers from her binder, she slammed it shut with her hip and dropped the book into her backpack.

"I'll ask Buffy," she reasoned with a smile, slipping the bag onto her shoulders.

-

"So," Dawn began carefully that evening, picking at a large portion of mashed-potatoes which Willow had been kind enough to dish out, "can I go to Jessica's after dinner?"

Buffy lifted her eyes from the scrutiny of her own plate (she didn't trust Willow's cooking either), and glanced from her friends back to Dawn. As if for reassurance.

"Why do you have to go to Jessica's?"

"Weeelll," Dawn drawled, stalling for an excuse, "our History class is having this huge joint project and it's like, worth fifty percent of our grade. I know I'm going to Spike's tonight, but I'll be home at nine!"

She smiled, pressing the lie through her teeth. Buffy looked at her with a doubtful expression, and parting her lips to speak (no doubt to say _no_) Willow interjected, cutting off whatever she had to say.

"That should be fine, Buffy, I can drive her and pick her up. It's no big deal."

Dawn shot the red-head a grateful look, and Willow returned it with a warm smile. Apparently she wasn't too upset over the pancake incident earlier that morning. Buffy, however, took a couple moments to respond, and leaning back in her chair, crossed her arms.

"It gets dark out fast," she began in warning, "I really don't want you to be planning one of your little adventures, Dawn."

"Adventures?" Dawn quipped, trying to sound offended, despite the sudden irritation bubbling inside of her. "It's just a study thing, Buffy. We're going to get some information together, draw out a plan...you know, you've done that kind of stuff before too."

"Buffy was never too good at the finishing part," Willow joked, and Buffy's countenance changed from contemplative to annoyed, and she threw a pea in the witches direction. "Not fair," she pouted, "I was still the Slayer in High school too, you know! If I didn't have to keep running off to save the world...I _so_ would have been a good student."

The tension in the air drained then, and Buffy offered her consent. Dawn tried to hide the satisfied smile that claimed dominance on her lips, as she managed to force down the rest of her potatoes.

-

Standing on Jessica's porch, Dawn waved good-bye to Willow as she drove away from the curb. Turning to face the door, she knocked twice gently, and waited. It didn't take long for her friend to come clambering down the steps, and yank open the door. Pulling Dawn inside, she grinned wickedly, before glancing at her up and down.

"What's with the bag?" she asked incredulously as she led Dawn into the living room.

"Well I had to lie and say we're working on a project," Dawn explained, letting it slip from her slender shoulders. "Otherwise Buffy wouldn't have let me come out."

"What's the deal with her?" Jessica questioned in annoyance, "I mean, really, she's worse than my _mom_. I thought older sisters were supposed to be cool."

"I don't know," Dawn lied, dropping down onto the couch. "Since our mom died, she's kind of kicked it into overdrive. She probably just doesn't want me to get hurt."

"Smothering is a form of murder, you know," was Jessica's saucy response. She stood near the hall, fluffing her hair in the mirror that hung above the mantel. They're eyes met in the reflection, and Dawn shifted uncomfortably.

"So when are they getting here?" she asked, glancing around the living room.

"We're meeting them at the graveyard," Jessica answered, turning on her heel. She snatched her purse from the floor and glanced out the window. The sky was on fire, a dazzling mess of oranges, reds and purples. It would be dark soon, and although Dawn knew the cemetery was _not_ a good place to be (not only for the vampires, but she ran the risk of bumping into Spike, too) she got up from the couch and stretching mildly, crossed her arms and headed towards the door.

The walk to the cemetery was a short one, and although Dawn had agreed to go, she couldn't help the unease that claimed her nerves as the sun slowly vanished behind the trees. The cool breeze that picked up once the sun was gone gave her goosebumps along her bare thighs, and she shivered. Jessica nattered away about something that happened at school, and she continued to look for the familiar gates of the Cemetery they were headed.

When she spotted them, a sudden anxiousness engulfed her body.

"Jessica," she bit out, stopping near the pathway that led up to the gates, which were already slightly ajar. "Jessica, I dunno' if I want to do this anymore."

"What?" Jessica asked, turning to give her a wide-eyed look. "Are you _serious_? We're already _here_, Dawn. They're like, waiting inside. Everything is ready."

"Yeah but cemeteries are creepy, don't you think?" she asked, remaining where she stood as Jessica continued to advance backwards, eyes still fixed on her. "I mean, things could be in there. People."

"That's the _point_," Jessica responded with a roll of her eyes. "Why do you think we're doing a seance? I mean _helloooo_, don't you wanna talk to some ghosts? I'm sure there are plenty of dead souls in here."

_More than you know,_ Dawn thought gingerly. Normally she had no qualms prancing around the Graveyard when the sun went down. But of course, she'd be safe because she was with either Spike or Buffy. Neither of them would let harm come to her. This, this was different though. Different and _stupid_. She didn't know why she'd even agreed to it, because now she would have to explain all of it to Buffy when she returned home two hours earlier than expected. Not only that, but she had to figure out a way to pull Jessica back from the gates, which she was getting extremely close to.

"Can't we just hang out at your house?" she pleaded. "Or we can all go out and grab some pizza? I've got some money."

"Don't be such a baby," Jessica grumbled, annoyed now, for she stalked down the pathway and grabbed Dawn's wrist. "Derek and Josh are going to think we're babies if we don't show."

Hesitating, Dawn looked from Jessica and beyond to the gates, before biting her lip. She forced her feet to move, and when Jessica saw that she was complying, her grip on her wrist slackened. They made their way inside the cemetery, and Dawn glanced around them as they did. Spike's crypt was across the cemetery, so she would remain relatively undetected as long as they stayed closer to the entrance. They walked around gnarled tree roots and broken tombstones, before a whistle drew their attention. Two shadows stood under a dead willow tree, which loomed out over the west side of the graveyard.

The familiar faces of Derek and Joshua came into view, and they were both grinning as the girls approached.

"Glad you made it," Joshua said warmly to Dawn, and she nodded in silence, before glancing down towards the ground. A Ouija board as well as six or seven candles lay sprawled out on the dirt, and she suppressed another shiver before sitting down alongside Jessica. As the boys made work of arranging the candles and lighting them, Dawn looked around again, before her eyes lifted to the willow above them. It groaned against the wind, and Derek cursed as a few of the candles flickered and then died.

"We brought some extra goodies," Derek grinned, his facial features eerily illuminated as he sat down. The dwindling flames of the candles accompanied by the darkening twilight set the mood just right, and Dawn stiffened when Joshua sat down and sidled closer.

"I got some of my dad's vodka," Derek explained, pulling a large bottle of clear liquid from a bag, "so this should make it more interesting."

"Oooh, gimme," Jessica giggled, taking the bottle and prying it open with her small hands. Once she had the cap removed, she took a long drink, pulled a face, and then handed it to Dawn. She accepted it reluctantly, and stared at the bottle in her fingers a moment before offering it to Josh. He took it with raised eyebrows, before exchanging glances with Derek, who shrugged and then smiled.

"Not gonna' join in on the fun?" he asked, grabbing the bottle from Josh.

"I'm okay." Dawn responded stiffly, rubbing her arms. This had been a bad idea.

Derek passed the bottle back to Jessica, who nursed small sips from it was if it _weren't_ straight alcohol. Once he'd managed to get all of the candles lit—and stay that way, they settled into a circle, knees touching one another around the Ouija board.

They placed the tips of their fingers on the palet, and Derek snickered before tilting his head skyward.

"Ghosts of Sunny Dale, hear us," he began, and Jessica stifled a snort. "we invite you to our seance. If you are here, show us a sign of your presence."

After a long moment of silence, nothing. The group grew quiet as a gust of wind rolled through the cemetery, and the candles flickered. Derek repeated himself, and again they waited. Jessica parted her lips to speak after another long moment, perhaps to voice her disappointment and ask for another shot of vodka, when the palet flew from beneath their fingers, and smashed into the Willow tree. Dawn screamed and scuttled backwards, away from the others'. Fingers grappled at roots as she tried to pull herself up onto her feet, and the candles flickered one last time before extinguishing altogether.

"Cool!" Joshua shouted in the dark, and Jessica let out a frightened noise. The Willow tree groaned above them, and Dawn was about to call out when an icy hand curled around her upper arm. Jerking her to her feet, she was spun round on her heels. Gleaming yellow eyes met hers, and they widened further. Before she could scream however, another cold hand pressed to her lips.

"What do we have here?" something behind her hissed, "looks like they're out to have some fun."

"Dawn?" Jessica called, not to far from her left. "Dawn? Where are you?"

Dawn's words were muffled as she writhed in the creature's grasp, and a resonating chuckle carried in the wind. Jessica screamed, and Dawn jerked around, trying to make out what was happening, in the dim lighting offered by the street lamps down below the cemetery. To no avail, her eyes saw only dark, muted shapes.

"They look like they'd taste good, don't you agree?" something hissed, and Dawn realized in mild horror that there was _more than one_. Her fighting grew more frantic, and she managed to pry an arm from those cold fingers. Something tore through her shirt, and she realized in mild pain that whatever this thing was, it had _claws_.

"Let _go_ of me!" she screamed, kicking blindly in the dark as they began to shove her forward, deeper into the cemetery. Stumbling, she tripped and landed on her hands. Wincing as a jagged piece of tomb stone tore into her palms, she made a small noise as she was jerked to her feet. Behind the dull ache in her arm and now her hand, the girl scrambled to come up with an idea. She thrashed behind her with her good arm, hoping to hit something, but her efforts were fruitless. They dodged her feeble attempts easily and continued to push her forward, snickering all the while.

When Dawn began to think that she was in some serious trouble, a deep, familiar voice sounded about fifteen feet to the left.

"Oi," he barked, and Dawn could tell he was annoyed. A dark shadow advanced, but Dawn could tell from the lazy saunter that it was none other than Spike. "What in the bloody hell is goin' on here?"

"Spike!" Dawn squeaked, and the figure's advance stopped.

"Dawn?"

He sounded surprised.

"Spike, _help me_!" she demanded, throwing another blind kick behind her. This time was a success, and she heard a mild grunt as her foot made contact with something hard. "I can't see anything," she added quickly, crawling away from where she'd stopped. Her fingers dug into the dirt, and Spike drew nearer until he knelt down and pulled her up to her knees. Cool fingers brushed hair back off of her face, and she could make out the strong line of his jaw, and the frown that marred his handsome face.

"What're you doing out here, Bit?" he asked, anger mixed in with the anxiousness in his tone. His eyes left her face, and slid behind her. Without giving her a chance to respond, he stood and cracked his knuckles.

"Oh," he said, almost as if to himself. His voice changed then, and he sounded almost...amused. "It's _you_ blokes again, in't it? Decide to go for a little romp did we? D'you lot get your jollies off of scaring the knickers off of little girls?"

Dawn heard a faint swear, and she turned onto her back, eyes narrowing in attempt to see what was happening. Spike moved forward, and she could make out four figures. He spun on his heel and drove the heel of his boot into what would be the general direction of a head, and a sickening crunch signalled he'd made contact.

"I'd been meaning to find you again. I s'pose this is actually rather convenient for me." A pause, and Dawn grew a little confused. He sounded like he was _enjoying_ himself. "Now, I should really rip your heads off for trying to do such a nasty thing so early in the evening, but I'll be nice and just take your arms."

There was a hiss of protest, before a few blows were delivered, and then an ear-splitting scream. Dawn winced as she heard cartilage tear, and the heavy scent of blood filled the air. Covering her mouth with a hand, she resisted the urge to vomit, and closed her eyes.

"I'll be takin' that off your grubby little claws too, mate," Spike commented. The sound of rustling cloth, and another grunt, before Spike's figure became more clear as he approached her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, concern dripping from each word. "C'mon, Bit, let's get you back to the crypt an' have a look."

"M-my friends," Dawn stammered as he helped her to her feet. "They were—they were near th-the tree."

Spike turned his head, brows drawn together in a frown, before he shook his head.

"I don't smell 'em," he commented, "and if you're worried about your friends, whats left of those beasties won't be commin' round here anymore. They've probably all run off. Come on now."

Dawn couldn't help the tears that slid from the corners of her eyes, and by the time they'd reached the crypt, she was balling. Spike's arm was heavy on her shoulder as he led them down and then inside, and he positioned her on the couch so he good give her a more thorough once-over.

"I was totally useless," she blubbered as he inspected her neck. "I just froze up and didn't even _think_ about any of the stuff we've been practising. It was dark and I couldn't see, and what _were_ those things?"

"Hush, love," Spike commented, his fingers slipping down her shoulders. She suppressed a shiver, but goosebumps broke out along her thighs. If he noticed, he said nothing. He found the tear in her sweater, though, and peeling back the blood fabric, frowned. Shaking his head, his blue eyes lifted to hers, and she flushed with the realization as to how _close_ they were.

"I don't have a first-aid kit," Spike said with mild irritation as he turned over her hand. He picked a few chunks of rock from the wound, and she winced, and would have jerked her hand back had his long fingers not curled around her wrist and held it in place.

After a long moment of silence, he sighed before standing up. Rolling his shoulders, he tugged at the collar of his coat before pulling her to her feet by her elbow.

"Mind telling me what a snack like you is doing in the cemetery unsupervised? Your sister will have my head when she finds out you got hurt when I was 'round."

"You don't need to tell her anything," Dawn responded quickly. "I mean, you can just walk me back to my friend Jessica's house, and I can call Willow and she'll come pick me up."

"Oh really now," Spike mused, eyebrows lifting. "And how, dearest, are you expecting to explain those?"

A casual gesture to her torn, bloody shirt, and bleeding palm.

"I...I'll tell her I tripped or something, cut my arm on some scissors."

Spike stared her down a moment, before lifting his eyebrows.

"Right then," he nodded, fingers curling around Dawn's upper arm. "let's get you home."

"Hey," Dawn began quickly as he pulled her back towards the doorway, "did you know those...things? That attacked us?"

"Not really," Spike responded coolly, as they marched up the steps that led back out into the cemetery. "I bumped into 'em at a bar the other night. Didn't get off on a good hand. This just made matter's worse, but I think I've rectified the situation."

"How?"

"They had something that could be—if it works, mind you,—a little annoying to your big sis, if the wrong kind of person got their hands on it."

"You have it now?"

"You're damn right I do," Spike snorted, glancing around them as they walked down a well worn path. He manoeuvred both himself and Dawn out of the way of broken tombstones, expertly and quickly finding his way to the cemetery gates. Dawn glanced over to where the tree was, and caught no sight of her friends. She tried to ease the knot that tightened in her stomach by telling herself they had simply ran home after she'd been dragged off.

"So what is it, then?" Dawn questioned, turning her attention back towards the vampire. Spike gave her a mild sidelong glance, before turning his attention back to the road.

"It's called the Mirror Talisman," he began, cutting Dawn's next words off, "and don't you be thinking 'bout taking a peek at it. I was going to give it to Buffy later, but since we're headed there now, she might as well have it."

Curiosity vanishing, Dawn fell quiet. The dread that consumed her now wasn't for her friends, or the fright from facing those faceless creatures, but from what lay ahead. The monsters in the graveyard hadn't ripped her head off, but her sister certainly would.


	3. CH2: The Mirror Talisman

Dawn sat in her room, while Spike tried to smooth things over with Buffy. She could hear her sisters' angry voice floating up from the living room, and her arms curled more securely around her pillow. Willow had fixed her up once they'd arrived, and Buffy had sent nothing but murderous glances in her direction, as Spike explained the situation. She'd been sent up to her room—no doubt her training session with Spike cancelled for the evening—and had waited out the last forty five minutes, anticipating the loud _thump-thump_ of her sisters footsteps as she climbed the stairs. No doubt a yelling match would ensue, Dawn would end up grounded, and she wouldn't be allowed out of the house for weeks.

With a heavy sigh, she flopped back onto her bed and rolled over. Eyes scanning her window, she stared at the frame, before her gaze focused on the moon beyond the glass. It shone brightly, and illuminated her room (she hadn't bothered turning the lights on, after being banished) in a pale white light. She remembered the way the same moonlight had fallen across Joshua's face, and shivering, she pressed her nose into her pillow. Her arm and hand throbbed despite the medicinal herbs Willow had administered to them, and so she knew trying to sleep would be a waste of effort. There really wasn't anything to do except wait out the argument taking place below, and prepare herself for what was to follow that.

**

"I can't trust her," Buffy fumed as she paced the living room. Her fingers curled into fists, and she flexed them repeatedly as she wore a path into the carpet. Spike sat on the couch, relaxed—more so than Buffy, to say the least—his blue gaze following the Slayer as she angrily verbalized her frustrations. "I mean, I _try_ and give her some freedom, and _look what she does_! Almost gets herself _killed_."

"Come on, Buffy," Willow began hesitantly, sitting in the armchair near the fireplace, "she's sixteen. You know how we were at that age. We've snuck out before, too."

"But I'm the _Slayer_," Buffy emphasized in exasperation, throwing her hands up into the air. Her blonde hair spun round her shoulders as she turned on her heel, once more making her way across the room. "I could take care of myself—_you _saw what had happened to her. If Spike hadn't been around, God knows if she'd even be alive."

Parting his lips to speak, Spike was cut off as Buffy launched into an angry rant.

"She gets mad at me for being nosey, wanting to know where she's going, what time she'll be home. She doesn't _realize _it's not safe out there! And I can't be with her all of the time, and I don't want it to take something like this to happen before she figures out that I'm not trying to be a controlling psychobitch."

"I think Willow's right on this one, Buffy," Spike cut in, ignoring the annoyance with which Buffy looked at him. Stretching out his long legs, he shrugged it off before exchanging glances with the witch, who returned his stare with a grateful if not sheepish smile. "She's at that age, you know. Bit's bound to find some trouble here or there. And like you said, I _was_ there, and aside from a few scratches—deep as they may be, she's alright."

"Trouble with _boys_, I can handle," Buffy shot back, sinking down onto the armrest of the chair Willow sat in. She stared down at her fingers, looking confused and defeated—a rare occurrence. Oddly enough, this only happened when it came to dealing with Dawn, the vampire noted. "Trouble with demons, getting attacked—I can't deal with that, because it doesn't have to happen if she'd just stay inside. Or trust me enough to let me know what she's really doing."

"That's a load," Spike snorted, slapping his knee. Pushing himself to his feet, he cocked his head before addressing the Slayer. "You mean to tell me, after all those dirty looks and the screamin' that's going to take place once I bugger off to my crypt, you want her to trust you? Yellin' won't solve this problem, an' you've got a _lot_ more 'an just trust issues here, pet."

Buffy pouted, before looking to Willow for support. She raised her eyebrows and offered a small smile, before shrugging shyly and nodding in agreement to Spike's statement. Satisfied, he allowed a small, cocky smile to fall to his lips. Crossing his arms, he looked towards the stairs.

"What would you know about trust?" Buffy mumbled, getting to her feet. "_Or_ having kids? This sucks, it's like a permanent babysitting job. Except I don't get paid with money, I get anxiety attacks."

"Not everybody is the Slayer," Spike began, ignoring the jibe she'd sent his way. "But you know, at least she's getting help. She knows how to take care of herself. Or at least, she's gettin' there. Nibblet's got talent, I'm sure you've noticed. She'll never be as fast as you or as strong as you, but she'll bloody well be able to take care of a few vamps', soon enough. An I'll see to that."

Although Buffy didn't look entirely happy to hear this, Spike noticed some of the tension drain from her shoulders. With a small nod, she brushed a strand of hair from her shoulders, His gaze followed the line of her throat, before up to her face. Their eyes met, and Spike looked away. Slipping his hands into the pockets of his cloak—an attempt to hide his fists—he rocked back on his heels before motioning towards the stairs with his head.

"Do you want me to take her tonight? You know she'll be safe with me. Then you can take a break."

A moment of silence, before Buffy sighed heavily and nodded, throwing a careless hand in the direction of the stairs.

"Might as well," she breathed. As Spike began to climb the stairs, she called after him.

"Thanks."

**

A knock on her door. Half tempted to yell for Buffy to screw off, Dawn chose silence as her response. Another knock, before the door opened and light flooded in from the hallway.

"Dawn?"

Surprised, the girl pulled herself up into a seated position. Frantically brushing her hair off her shoulders, she wiped at her face with her fingers before the overhead light flickered on. Spike stood in the doorway, brows drawn together in concern. His jaw was set, and she tried not to squirm as his eyes roamed over her. She told herself that he was just making sure she was okay—_he's in love with Buffy, after all._

"You okay, Bit?" he asked, stepping further into the room. "I've talked to your sister; I wouldn't worry to much about her if that's what you're on about."

"I'm not worried," Dawn responded stiffly,slowly slipping her pillow from her lap. "I can handle Buffy."

Spike chuckled then, before nodding.

"Right then. She says you can come back with me for the night, if you're up for it. Doubt you'd be ready to go to school with a hand like that, anyway."

"The night?" Dawn squeaked, eyebrows lifting. "As in, a _sleepover_?"

"Er—well, I s'pose that's what you'd be callin' it, yeah." A quick pause, before Spike's eyes narrowed. "But we're not doing any of that make-over-gossip rubbish, you hear me?"

Mood lightened, Dawn tried to hide her smile as she slid off of the bed. "Okay!"

"Well," Spike continued, rubbing his neck. He seemed a little uncomfortable, and glanced towards the door. "I'm going to go talk to Buffy 'bout that Talisman. You grab some clothes, and meet me downstairs."

Dawn nodded in agreement, and as he disappeared down the hall all leather and cigarettes, she began to dig through her drawers. It was only then that she dreaded not using some of her allowance money to buy sexier pyjamas, and settled on a pair of baby blue cotton shorts and a fitted black shirt she'd stolen from Buffy's closet. A toothbrush, hairbrush and some lip gloss later, she was ready, and bounded down the stairs.

Spike stood at the foot of the stairway with Buffy, and she stopped dead. Envy consumed the girl at their proximity, and how enraptured Spike seemed to be by it. Buffy's slender fingers roamed over a silver shaft he held in his hands, palms upwards, presenting the object to her. Their voices were low, and she couldn't really hear anything. Buffy picked up the shaft, and Dawn realized that it must have been the Talisman Spike had been talking about.

"Cool!" she chirped, ignoring the way they jumped apart upon hearing her voice. Skipping steps, she jumped onto the landing and gave Spike a small smile, before turning to her sister. "What's that?" she asked, intrigued by the spherical reflective surface melded to the handle. Reaching out, her fingers closed around it. Buffy opened her lips—no doubt to protest, but before she could, they both froze. Dawn shivered, and the sphere began to glow a dull green. Spike swore, but before he could pry it from either of their hands, an electric shock ran through both of them. Letting out a pained yelp, Dawn yanked her hand back, before sinking down onto the first step.

Buffy dropped the Talisman, and as it clattered to her feet, blinked slowly. The mirror attatched to the shaft shattered, and the pieces scattered all over the floor. Dawn held her burning hand to her chest, before looking form the broken shards up to Buffy. She looked distant, before shaking her head and glancing around.

"What was _that_?" she breathed, and Dawn shook her head. Spike glanced from the broken Talisman to between the two sisters.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking from Buffy to Dawn. "Do you feel any different? Hurt?"

"No," Dawn and Buffy responded at the same time. "Why?"

"The Mirror Talisman takes energy," Spike explained, dropping to his knees. He ran his fingertips along the broken shards of glass, before shaking his head. "It was a rumoured instrument, in some of the ancient texts. I'm sure your librarian will have a book about it, somewhere. It's abilities seemed ludicrous though, so it was written off as a myth."

"I didn't feel anything except a shock," Buffy responded, easily. "So maybe it was just some cheap parlour trick, after all?"

"Let's hope so," Spike nodded, seriously. "It's powers weren't clearly defined in the texts, so nobody really knows _what _kind of energy it takes. Best to keep this all together, though."

"What'd you break?" Willow asked curiously, coming out from the kitchen. Her eyes fell to the floor, before her eyebrows vanished behind the line of her hair. "Is that the _Mirror_ Talisman?"

"It _was_," Buffy responded dryly. "I dropped it."

"You've heard of it?" Spike asked, as Dawn stood, a little unsteadily, to go grab a dust pan.

"Oh yeah, it's a really popular thing with the Witches. It deals with the transferal of supernatural energy. Apparently, the darker witches back in the day used it to make sacrifices to Demon's."

Wiggling her eyebrows mischievously, the witch took a small sip of tea from her mug. "But nobody thought it was real. I mean, the idea is cool, being able to transfer power and life sources, but that's a little extreme, you know?"

Buffy nodded, and Dawn shrugged as she knelt to sweep up the pieces.

"Well if it broke so easily," she began, lifting her head, eyes questioning, "was it really that powerful?"

Buffy shrugged, and Willow seconded the action.

"I'll look into it," the witch offered, lifting a hand. "I needed something to do tonight anyways, aside from chaperoning rebellious teenagers, that is."

Dawn ducked her head to avoid Buffy's scathing glare, and once she'd gathered the shards, set it on the base of the stairs, before standing and adjusting her backpack.

"Can we go now, Spike?" she asked, quietly. Spike nodded, before letting his arm slip onto the girls shoulders.

"Make sure you get some homework done, at least," Buffy called behind them as they left the house.

--

For some reason, once they'd arrived back at the crypt, Dawn felt extremely awkward. Spike had let her in first, and as she set her stuff down onto the couch, he'd shrugged out of his coat and found his cigarettes. Fingers toying with the zipper, she stood there a moment, unsure of what to do. Spike moved to the small cooler he kept near the coffin, and opening it up pulled out a sachet of blood. She was careful to keep her gaze on the floor as he poured it into a mug, and shifted her things over when he came to drop down onto the couch.

"Have a seat, pet," Spike invited, noticing her unease. "I don't bite."

Dawn smiled, letting her bag shift from the couch and fall to the floor. "Well, you can't," she teased, lowering herself down beside him. "Otherwise I think you might."

Rolling his eyes, Spike grabbed for the remote and turned the T.V on.

"So we're not going to train tonight?" she asked curiously, as he expertly flipped through the fifty some odd channels he had. He shrugged his shoulders, smoke dangling carelessly from his lips.

"Well your hand is downright ruined," he commented, distracted as he settled onto a channel which broadcasted _Passions_. "Doubt you'd be able to hold a sword very well tonight, Bit. 'Sides, I won't tell Buffy we took a breather if you won't."

Liking this idea, Dawn hid her smile by biting her lips. Turning to face the T.V, she relaxed against the couch and drew her knees to her chest. They watched his show for about an hour, and when it was over, he tossed the remote to Dawn.

"Have a look," he explained, lighting another cigarette. "I think I'll go out and grab us some munchies—you haven't eaten tonight, have you?"

A flashback to cold meatloaf and unstable looking potatoes. Giving Spike a wide smile, she shook her head.

"Alright, well how's Pizza sound then?"

"Sounds good," Dawn agreed. As Spike shrugged into his coat, she eyed the door before the television set. "But..." she began hesitantly, "You're going to leave me here alone?"

"Well here's as safe a place as any," he responded, glancing around. "I've never 'ad any unwelcome guests come crawlin' through." A brief pause, before his lip drew back into a grimace. "Save for your sister, I 's'pose. You can come with me, if you'd like. I just figured you might be a little tired after all that screaming."

Dawn's face flushed, and she hid her blush by staring down at her fingers.

"No, I want to come."

"Alright then," Spike nodded, taking a long drag from his smoke. "Pepperoni and cheese?"

--

He ate the pizza with little interest, his attention focused more so upon the girl who sat beside him on the couch. He watched the way she picked at the cheese—inspecting it almost, before delicately popping a piece into her mouth. He was never good at reading people, and so Spike was a little put off by her quiet, distant behaviour. Dawn was the exact opposite, and so it sent the Vampire on edge to have her act this way.

"You gonna' eat that, or are you still inspectin' it, doctor?" he joked, and she looked up, almost startled. Her eyes fixed onto his, and he ignored the momentary shock that ran through his nerves, before raising his eyebrows. A pause, before she shrugged her small shoulders. Lifting the pizza to her mouth, she took a rather large bite, and he chuckled as she spoke around her mouthful of food.

"Done," she breathed, swallowing. "Happy?"

"Well," Spike countered, a little confused, "I thought you wanted pizza? You don't have to force it down if you don't want any, Nibblet."

"No, it's not that," she responded hastily, "I just... I don't know. I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought."

"Eyes bigger than your stomach?" he grinned, finishing off his own slice. "Well, I hope you're being honest with me. Don't want to turn into one of those girls who obsess about their image."

"Buffy's obsessed with how she looks," Dawn quipped, and Spike heard a sort of challenge in her voice. Taken by surprise, he leaned back into the couch. Lifting his eyebrows, he cocked his head, before his gaze narrowed. Her lips were pursed, and although she was probably unaware, there was a very fine blush rising up along her throat. It took him a second, before he realized—was she jealous?

"Come on now, pet, you're just as much a looker as she is."

The flush deepened, and Dawn turned away, eyes fixed onto the blank television set adjacent them. Spike couldn't help the path his eyes followed; from her rosy cheeks down her jaw, along the barely visible tracery of blue veins just beneath her translucent skin. It was almost like she were teasing him, and with a mild shock he realized that he had truly meant what he had just said.

"Give it a few years," he coughed, averting his gaze. "I'm sure the boys will be all over you."

The girl sighed—heavily, it would seem, before she set her pizza back onto the cardboard box. "I'm tired Spike," she exclaimed, "I want to sleep now."

Nodding hastily, the Vampire pulled himself quickly to his feet. Finding a blanket—one of the few he owned, aside from those on his bed—he tossed it to her. She wrapped it around her small frame and curled up in a corner of the couch. He frowned, eyes scanning her features. She seemed withdrawn now, and the pull of her brow made him wonder if he'd upset her any. He briefly went over their conversation in his head, mind running over something he could of said that would have made her angry. While she was very different from her sister, one trait they had in common was their temper. The only difference between them was Dawn never played Kick the Spike when she was pissed off.

Finally, he opted for silence, and leaned over to affectionately rub her hair. She stiffened under his touch, and he frowned before slowing withdrawing. This was a definite sign. He'd done something to set her in a mood, and like the other Summer's girl, it took a bloody miracle to get them out of it. Unsure now, he stepped back before heading towards the large dip in the crypt that led down and beneath, where his more private quarters were.

He stopped just before the steep incline, and looking over his shoulder, hesitated before asking,

"D'you wanna come down here, love? It's warmer 'an that couch you're curled up on."

Dawn didn't respond for more than a minute, and just when Spike was going to give in and head down alone, she pulled herself into a seated position and said very quietly, "Okay."

The Vampire had to admit he was a little uncomfortable leading her down towards the bed. She shuffled along beside him, the blanket he'd thrown at her still draped over her shoulders. Spike reasoned that he would get a stake through the heart were Buffy to hear of this, but on the other hand, Dawn probably wasn't going to brag to Buffy about spending the night with him in his bed. Granted, it was a completely innocent gesture— he saw Dawn as something like a little sister. Definitely in a different light than Buffy. What was wrong with a little cuddling? Not that the Big Bad would admit to thinking this aloud, of course.

Dawn found her way easily to the bed, crawling on top of it before flopping down on the right side.

Spike watched her as she curled up into a small ball, and he could sense her nervousness. He hoped she knew he wasn't going to try anything—and with forced casualty, he sauntered over to the bed and kicked off his shoes. Sleeping with clothes on was going to be a bit of a bother, but he'd had the brilliant idea of inviting her down here so he would endure it. What he hadn't excepted when he'd settled down onto the bed however, was for Dawn to scoot closer and curl up into his side.

His arm fell alongside her back though, and she inched closer. The warmth of her body was surprisingly pleasant, and, he noted, completely different from the warmth of Buffy's. With her sister, there was always an unspoken tension. She would never be fully relaxed, the fine muscles in her body ready to react to any little movement he made. There was no real trust between them, and Spike had sort of managed to finally come to terms with the fact that she was using him as nothing more than a temporary escape.

With Dawn though, he could sense no distrust. Her body molded to his side almost perfectly, and he could feel himself warming to her touch. Closing his eyes, he felt himself relax. This was actually quite nice.

**

_Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God._

Dawn silently screamed in her head, holding her body as close to still as humanly possible. There she lay, _in bed_ with Spike, out of his _own_ doing. She was sure he could hear her heat beating five thousand miles a minute, and she chewed her lower lip anxiously as they lay side by side. She was very conscious of his arm along her shoulders, fingertips resting gently along her upper arm. He wasn't breathing—a sign that he had either fallen asleep, or was dozing. One arm lay upon his chest, and although it curled tightly along her side, she could still feel the hard muscle beneath. It fascinated her, and the girl had to resist the urge to let her hand slip up and span out along his shoulder. With an unsteady breath, she squeezed her eyes closed and tried to relax. She knew she was going to have difficulty falling asleep though, because when she woke up, this would have to end.

Sleep finally consumed her mind however, for the next moment she was waking up to an empty bed. Surrounded by warmth, she realized Spike had drawn the covers over her. Groggily, she pulled herself into a seated position. Frantically trying to fix her mussed hair, she glanced around the dimly lit room. She couldn't _see_ Spike, and she couldn't hear him. This probably meant he'd wandered back up above ground. Relaxing a little, she stretched languidly, before letting her fingers smooth over the fabric beneath her. She was only a little rueful that she hadn't pulled on her skimpy pyjamas, for the memory of Spike's body pressed to hers was still close.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she ran her fingers through her hair before standing completely. Surprised at how well she felt, she stretched again before turning her hand to inspect the bandages Willow had wrapped round it earlier. Flexing her fingers, she was intrigued when the expected pain was no longer there. Fingers plucking carefully at the bindings, she unravelled it and as it fell to her feet, she lifted her palm upwards. Eyes widening as her fingers curled away from her palm, she stared down at her hand.

The skin was smooth, flawless, and showed no tracery of scars.

Pulling her shirt off, she ripped the bandages free from her upper arm as well, and ran her fingers along the area where the deep, raw gash should have been. It was bruised, but to her growing distress, no sign of a wound. Despite the fact that this could be considered a good thing, she started to panic. Breathing deeply, she paced the length of Spike's room, before turning sharply on her heel. After a moment longer, she could no longer contain the frightened whimpers leaving her lips. Scrambling for her shirt, she jerked it on over her head.

"Spike!" she called, feeling her way shakily towards the incline that led above. "Spike!"

"What is it, Dawn?" Spike answered in alarm, his voice growing closer. She heard his feet land on the cold stone, and for some reason felt threatened. Backing up into the room, she could see Spike's dark form as he advanced, his silhouette barely visible from the one or two candles lighting the room. Her shoulders tightened, and when he reached forward to take hold of her wrist, her thoughts left her.

"What's wro—"

Spike's words were cut off as Dawn slid her fingers up his wrist. Hand closing around his forearm, she turned on her heel and using all of her strength, pulled him up and over her shoulder. He slammed onto the concrete with an unpleasant _thud_, and let out a long, agonized groan. Immediately as he did so, Dawn gasped and her hands flew up to her face.

"Oh my God!" she squeaked, scuttling backwards. "Oh my _God,_" she breathed again through her fingers. "Did I just _do that_?"

It took Spike a moment to answer, and he let out a pained grunt, pulling himself up to his elbows. Once he'd managed to clear his head, he pulled himself to his feet and quickly turned to face the younger girl. Eyes wide and body tense, his gaze scanned over her before he exclaimed in exasperation,

"What the bloody _hell_ was _that_?"

"I don't _know_!" Dawn shrieked. "You touched me and I just totally spaced out!"

Cocking his head, Spike advanced. His gaze narrowed when she sidled to the left, further from him.

"Come on now, Bit, you know I'm not gonna' hurt you."

"I know," Dawn responded, her voice tense. "But it doesn't feel...right."

After a pause, she inched closer, and Spike registered how uncomfortable she looked. Extending her hand, she looked up at him anxiously, before presenting to him what should have been her wounded appendage.

"Bollocks," Spike cursed, his eyebrows lifting in amazement. Cold hands coming up, he snatched her hand before she could pull it away, and turned it over for closer inspection. She couldn't explain the unease she felt at his touch, and had to resist the urge to push him away. After what had just happened, she was afraid to exert any more strength. She'd never been able to lift him over her shoulder before. And it had been so _easy_.

"This is complete soddin' rubbish," he fumed suddenly, throwing her hand away as if in disgust. "D'you mean to tell me...?"

He turned and began to pace the room. Dawn drew her hand back to her chest, and watched him with caution. He muttered to himself for about five minutes, before turning sharply on his heels.

"What's wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

"Bloody Mirror Talisman," Spike ground out, and kicked a pile of papers near his bed. They scattered noisily over the floor, before he pulled a face. "'It's a myth,'" he quoted, a high nasally impersonation of someone Dawn didn't know. "'It's powers can't exist, that's just _preposterous_._'_"

"What's going on, Spike?" Dawn demanded, and she was surprised at the authority in her voice. Spike seemed to catch it too, for her turned and looked over his shoulder at her.

"We have to see Buffy," he mused aloud, nodding to himself. "Buffy and Giles, and that little witchy friend of hers."

"_Why_?" Dawn questioned, nervousness dripping from her tone. "What's _wrong_?"

Spike started towards her, but stopped himself. Bringing a fist up to his lips, he bit down on a knuckle before letting out a groan. He seemed unsure of what to say, before parting his lips to speak.

"M'not certain, but it seems that little incident last night with the Talisman wasn't just a 'parlour trick',"

"W-what do you mean?" Dawn squeaked. "Like...it _did_ something to me?"

"You and your sister both have mystical powers," Spike continued, hastily. "It only works on people with gifts that are supernatural."

"I don't have any powers," Dawn began, but Spike cut her off.

"You're the Key," he exclaimed. "Just because you don't 'open' anything anymore, you're still made up of supernatural energy. And your sister is the Slayer."

Dawn was about to ask another question, before she recalled something Willow had said about it.

_It deals with the transferal of supernatural energy._

"So if it transfers energy...." Dawn began, eyes widening, "and it's called the Mirror Talisman, does that mean—?"

"It most likely does, pet," Spike confirmed grimly. "Which means we're in a world of trouble."


	4. CH3: Irreversible

"So you mean to tell me," Giles began, pacing in the Summer's home, "that Buffy and Dawn have somehow switched supernatural entities? And that now Buffy," he continued, gesturing in her direction, "is the Key, and Dawn is the Slayer?"

Dawn sat in the large armchair near the fireplace. Her eyes were fixed on her knees, but she could feel the heat gather in her face as more than a few pairs of eyes settled on to her small form. Spike lounged against the wall near the door, and Buffy stood beside him, rigid, with her arms crossed.

"It would appear to be that way," Spike answered finally after a long stretch of silence, "no other way to explain how the Bit flipped me over her shoulder."

"Well, you always were a lightweight, Spikey." Xander interjected sarcastically. He shut up when more than one unappreciative glance was sent his way. "Sorry," he mumbled, hands raised.

"Well I don't see how this is a _bad_ thing," Anya piped up, glancing between the two sisters, as they both gave her a look of incredulity. "Buffy is always whining about how being the Slayer kills her social life, and Dawn's _always_ complaining about not being allowed to help with anything that involves creepy crawly demons."

"Not fair," Buffy pouted, before her expression melted into one of seriousness. "I mean, it wouldn't be _that_ big of a deal, because this whole switch thing is just temporary, right Willow?"

Willow glanced up from her laptop, before green eyes dropped back down on to her screen. Her fingers were flying over the keyboard, and brows furrowing, she shrugged helplessly.

"I can't find anything yet," she began. "The Mirror Talisman was supposed to be some kind of myth, there's hardly any _useful_ information on the web about it, let alone how to use it." A pause. "Or fix it."

A heavy silence fell around them, and Giles continued to pace. Dawn could practically feel the supernatural energy swimming through her veins, and she wondered briefly, if Buffy had to deal with this constantly. She felt like she could go running for hours.

"Well, what d'you suggest we do then?" Spike asked, breaking the thickness of the silence. He sounded expectant, and his eyebrows raised as his gaze swept over the room. "Buffy's useless, and Dawn doesn't have any proper training."

Buffy made a noise, no doubt to object to his statement, and instinctively raised a hand to hit him upside the head. It was strange, watching her movements, which seemed so sluggish now. Human. And Spike lifted a hand, fingers curling easily around her wrist, holding her arm in place. The girl's eyes widened as she realized what had just happened, and making an angry wrenching motion, pulled herself from the vampire's slackened grip. His expression grew smug, blue eyes gleaming. "My point."

"We can't just have her go out patrolling," Giles spoke aloud, "the very idea is preposterous. She has school, and other duties to attend to."

"I don't mind," Dawn cut in, finally. Nervously. "I mean, Spike's been helping me with weapons and stuff, remember? And somebody has to do it. If it's only for a few nights while Willow figures stuff out, I should be okay." I think.

"No way in hell," Buffy snapped, shooting the idea down without a thought. "I'm not going to let my baby sister go out there all alone, chasing vampires. You can't defend yourself."

"Well actually," Spike commented, "she can. She's the 'Slayer' now, remember, love?"

Buffy elbowed him in the rib—a movement he hadn't anticipated. It didn't seem to hurt him much, but he grunted, and his lip drew back into an annoyed sneer. Dawn hid a mild smile, despite the overall seriousness of the situation.

"It wouldn't be a horrible idea," Tara began, quickly finishing her sentence when she received a glare from Buffy, "I mean, if someone were to go with her, and watch her back right? I mean, you can't do it, you'd be in just as much danger as the rest of us, even with your fighting experience."

"Who're you suggesting then?" Buffy retorted, her irritation obvious. "Spike?"

"I'm not opposed to the ide—"

"I didn't ask you," Buffy snapped, cutting him off. Throwing her hands up in the air, she let out a frustrated growl and turned to kick the end table. Face crumpling into an expression of pain, she righted herself, before limping over to where Dawn sat. "The only reason we trusted you with Dawn in the first place," Buffy continued bitterly, "is because of that stupid chip in your head. You've pulled too much crap for me to give you complete faith."

Dawn grew tense, and she looked to Spike, who stood under everyone's scrutiny now, to gauge his reaction to Buffy's words. He was very still, and his jaw grew firm as he locked gazes with her sister. Nodding once, he rolled his shoulders—something he did, usually when he was offended—and turned on his heel.

"Right then," he began, headed towards the door, "I know when I'm not wanted."

He yanked the door open, only to slam it closed again, as sunlight came streaming in. He fanned a few tendrils of smoke away from himself as he backed up, headed towards the kitchen. Dawn had forgotten too, that he'd rushed her back to the Summer's home, as soon as he'd figured out what had happened. Smoking blanket and all. "I'll be in the basement," he growled, clearing his throat. The door slammed behind him, and everyone listened a moment as his heavy feet fell onto the rickety stairs one at a time.

"You know," Dawn began, "that wasn't really nice. He really _is_ just trying to help. He even came here with me during the day, to make sure I got here okay."

"Dawn is right, Buffy," Giles agreed reluctantly, looking to her. "You're a bit frustrated with the situation you find yourself in, and that's understandable, but that was perhaps a bit...uncalled for."

"Of course," Buffy frowned, "everybody side with the vampire."

"Now Buffy," Giles shot back, adjusting his glasses along the bridge of his nose, "you and Spike may not have... the best of relationships right now," he coughed, and Dawn ignored the soft tug on her heart—everyone knew what he was talking about—"but I think he's proven more than once now, that he is helping because he _wants_ to. And he's more or less an asset to us now. You really should give him a chance."

"And Giles is saying that too," Xander cut in, incredulously, "so you might as well."

"Fine," Buffy heaved a sigh. Getting to her feet, she turned towards the kitchen. "I hate you all," she added, and stalked, grumbling to herself, out of view. Dawn sighed, buried her face into her knees, and tried to keep her heart at a steady rhythm. It skipped once or twice though, at the thought of them being alone together in the basement.

—

Spike leaned against the cold cement, eyes hard, arms crossed. He was fuming.

Buffy never appreciated anything he'd done for her. For any of them. In fact, the only one who thanked him for every miniscule thing that he did, was the little Bit. She enjoyed having him round. But then again, the poor girl was so ignored by the rest of her friends and family, due to the problems that usually occupied her sister, that it was only likely the two misfits of the group would band together and form a friendship.

His expression softened at the thought of her face, her smile, before he caught himself and slid a frown onto his angular face as Buffy descended the steps into the cool basement. She stood at the foot of the stairs a long moment, and the silence stretched out between the two. 1 second, 2. 3.

She cleared her throat, rubbed her hands on her thighs—a nervous gesture, and looked around the dimly lit enclosure.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, and Spike could hear a bitterness in her tone, "I'm just frustrated with what's happening, and I realize you're only trying to help. You're a big help. Thank you."

"You don't get it, do you?" Spike asked, incredulously. "I get that you could care less about me, and that's well and dandy, but you've got a family up there who are dependant on _you_. You've got a little girl who's suddenly been given all this supernatural strength, as well as the responsibility that comes with it. Whether or not it's temporary," he lifted a hand violently, to keep Buffy from interrupting him, "something has to be done about it. Not just for everyone's safety but yours too."

"What do you mean?" Buffy frowned. "I'm perfectly fine."

Spike snorted, rolled his eyes. Turned his back to her, which was something he'd never made a habit of doing before.

"Don't be daft, Buffy," he drawled, "d'you know what those demons will do to you once they find out you're just a regular _human_ now? Even if Willow somehow manages to put that damned Talisman back together again, it will be bloody useless if you're dead."

"I'm not going to die," Buffy snapped. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Yeah," Spike retorted, "for the time being. You have nothing to threaten the demons with. Except your sister. At least if she was _out_ there doing something, there is no worry of a rumour spreading in the underground."

"How could it spread?" Buffy asked angrily, before her eyes sparkled, "nobody was there except for _you_, when it happened. You're the only one who could start something like that."

Spike growled angrily and turned. Stalked towards her.

It surprised him, caught him off guard a little when she backed up against the wall.

Her eyes widened as she realized what had just happened, and something inside him twitched.

Something predatory. Hungry.

"If the Slayer isn't out for her nightly routine, or at least, if someone isn't out there killing in a Slayer-like _fashion_, demons will talk."

His voice dropped lower, and he stepped closer—close enough to touch her, should he please. A hand coming up, his cold fingers pressed into the wall beside her head, and he leaned over her. Their eyes met, and hers were like fire while his were like ice. Dead, unfeeling. Despite the ache that started in his gut.

"I can't protect all of you alone," he whispered, unable now to hide the genuine concern from his words, "Buffy, you know I wouldn't let anything happen to your sister."

The fire in Buffy's eyes faded then, and turned into something else. She looked wary, tired.

With a heavy sigh, she dropped her eyes to the floor, and Spike felt stung for a moment.

"It's not that I don't trust you," she began quietly, arms crossed, "you've proved more than once you're worthy of it." Deep breath. "But Spike, it's the _control_. I have no _control_. I can't keep her from getting hurt, or protect her now. I'm...useless. Like you said."

Spike pushed away from the wall—turned from her, and lifted his hands to run them through his tousled blonde hair. Frustrated now, he lifted his head to the ceiling before heaving a sigh.

"Everybody is here for you. This problem is only temporary, and as long as it remains that way the whole thing is completely manageable."

"But—"

"Just because you've been dumped with the responsibilities of the Slayer doesn't mean you have to shoulder every single problem that comes your way alone. You've got friends and family up there," Spike pointed angrily to the stairs, "people who are more than willing to help you get through this. Stop putting yourself through so much bloody misery when you don't need to. It's childish."

A heavy moment of silence, before Buffy's eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed, and Spike ignored the dry ache that began in his throat when the blood flooded throughout her face.

"_You're_ calling _me_ childish?"

"Yes. I am." Spike scoffed. " I might not act like it, but I've been around a helluva lot longer than any of you lot, and I know what I'm talking about. Whether you choose to believe what I have to say or not, is up to you."

"I just don't want anyone to get hurt," Buffy responded softly. Spike turned around to asses her expression and was surprised and almost a little disturbed at what he saw. Her features were a confused mess, caught between a frown, a pout and something else. Her lower lip trembled, and she damn well looked near to tears. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he struggled to maintain a pissed-off visage, although all of his anger had more or less flown out the window at the sight presented to him.

"Nobodies going to get hurt, Pet," Spike answered, just as softly, stepping close. She didn't withdraw, and he let his hands rest on her shoulders. "You've got some powerful witches on your side, a watcher, and the Big Bad to help you get through this." Buffy rolled her eyes, and he grinned in answer, before their eyes met again. A long moment of silence, and he couldn't help the direction his eyes travelled. Down to her mouth, where his gaze lingered on her lips for perhaps a second longer than they should have.

"Spike—"

"Oh."

Blinking, Spike and Buffy turned to the stairs, where Dawn stood. An expression of carefully constructed stoicism was plastered to her soft features, and Spike felt like he had just been caught doing something very _very_ wrong. It confused him for a fraction of a second, when he hadn't registered her footsteps, before he realized she possessed now the unnatural grace of the Slayer. Whether she'd noticed it or not, he hadn't heard her coming.

Stepping away from each other, Buffy dropped her eyes to the floor and cleared her throat.

"Alright," she said with a firm nod. "Game plan?"

"Willow wants you to come upstairs," Dawn explained quietly, "she found some stuff she wants to share with everybody."

Nodding in response, Buffy cast a hesitant look to Spike, before gently easing past Dawn and heading up the stairs. The vampire couldn't explain the sudden uncomfortable silence between the two, as they were left alone, but judging by means of her rigid posture and unwillingness to look him in the eye, he gathered she was embarrassed.

"You alright, Bit?" he asked carefully.

"Fine," Dawn responded quickly. Too quickly. She lifted her face, all smiles, but as their eyes met for a half second before she turned to follow her sister, he'd caught the look. Her footsteps faded as she too left him alone, and he stood there a moment mildly confused. He'd known she'd taken a liking to him—and he had her, as well. He didn't mind listening to her prattle on about how her day was, because he knew nobody else would really listen. And in turn, she took delight in hearing his deliciously gory murder stories, ones that her sister didn't really appreciate relaying back to her.

She was like a little sister to him.

And he'd assumed she'd thought more or less the same.

So why had she looked as if she were about to cry?

__

An odd numbness overcame Dawn as she headed back into the living room. Dropping heavily onto the armchair, she stared blankly at the coffee table before her, as Spike finally made an appearance. She took note of how Buffy kept her distance, and in turn, Spike made no move to get closer to her.

An uncomfortable knot, something akin to jealousy, began to wind its way inside her.

"Well," Willow exhaled, running her fingers through her hair, "I'm not sure how reliable this source is, but you know, what you can find, right?" A pause. "But anyway, it says here that the Talisman's powers were used for the transferal of supernatural energies, form one entity to another, or to a higher power altogether."

"What does that even _mean_?" Dawn asked, incredulous.

"It means that, say for example, if witches were casting a spell or something along those lines..." Willow paused, struggling to form an acceptable answer, "they could use the Talisman to transfer their energies towards it, or into one another to make it stronger, for a better effect. It's...complicated."

"Well," Buffy interrupted, "what does that mean for us?"

"The Talisman was broken," Willow responded, eyes scrolling over the screen. "whatever happened between you is...irreversible." She read more in silence, before leaning back. Eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs, she exhaled before rubbing the side of her neck. A troubled expression claimed dominance over her plain features, before she lifted her gaze. "Unless...."

"Unless?"

"Unless one of you dies."

Gile's coughed, before sinking down onto the couch beside Xander and Anya, who both looked rather taken aback.

"What?" he asked stupidly, removing his glasses.

"It... it makes sense, though," Willow began quickly, "I mean, we have no other way to reverse the spell, and if one of you dies, the supernatural energy is released, and would return to the original owner."

"That's bloody _ridiculous_," Spike hissed.

"I'm not saying it's a good idea!" Willow yelled, "I would _never_ even think of it! It's just... that's how a lot of things like this work."

Dawn lifted her gaze, and Buffy's stare locked onto hers.

A slow realization began to grow, and she bit her lower lip.

The knot forming inside of her tightened, and her brief moment of jealousy vanished. Only to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread.

What now?

Mmkayyy so I realize it's been like five hundred years since i updated... but that was cuz my computer had a seizure and died on me. D; and in regards to the comment about spike reading people... i KNOW he's a very good people-reader, but for the sake of this fic, he's going to be a little dumb in terms of him being able to judge someones motives and stuff as opposed to reading a girls feelings for him. I can kind of see it happening, cant you?XD


	5. CH4: The first of many nights

"Now, Bit," Spike began cautiously, "this isn't really the way to be approaching this sort of situation."

"Why?" Dawn asked, glancing over her shoulder. Irritation bubbled inside of her at the sight of his face, and her slender fingers curled more securely around the stake she held in her hand. "_Buffy_ does it like this all of the time."

They had been following a clan of vampires for the past three nights, with the help of Xander and Willow, who had offered on each occasion to come with, albeit the bibles and crosses held tightly to their chests. It seemed they were more frightened of Dawn's inexperience than anything, which only led the newly-found Slayer to deeper frustration. They had finally managed to corner the clan in a small crypt, and Spike now stood near the barricaded door, ready to rip it from its hinges once the young girl gave the word.

But her hands had begun to tremble at the thought of stepping into a room with six blood thirsty vampires. And so she had turned to hide her anxiousness from the only person who's opinion mattered. At least, to her anyway. She didn't want Spike to know how scared she was, because she had been the one who insisted on hunting, and carrying on as if there hadn't been a huge problem.

"Come on, love," Spike pleaded, his hand resting on the door despite his words, "we can regroup, we know where they're staying now. It won't be a big deal to call in some backup."

"Like who?" Dawn snapped, whirling around on her heel. Her hair, which had been gathered up into a messy ponytail, blew around her face in the humid California breeze. "Buffy? I'm not good enough or something? I _have_ all of her powers now. Why doesn't anybody think I can do this?"

"It's not that we think you can't, Dawny," Xander spoke up, coming round the side of the crypt with a nervous smile, "it's just Buffy has had more...erm...experience dealing with this sort of thing. _Sure_ you've been endowed with all the mighty powers of the Slayer, but you don't really know how to use them."

"Xander is right," Willow quipped, "we have full faith in you. Really. We just don't want you to get hurt."

Her gaze moved from Xander's tousled mess of dark, curly hair, to Willow's pale face, nervous smile, and windblown mane. Spike stood rigid, hand still poised if she were to say anything, but his jaw was set and he looked apprehensive. That was when she realized that it was up to her. All of it. Regardless of whether or not they went through with this tonight, it was her decision. Butterflies danced inside her stomach, and her grip on her stake was clammy. Wiping her hands off on her shorts, she took another moment to think—or more, weigh the options, before shaking her head violently.

"I don't care. I want to do this. Spike, the door."

__

Incredulous, Spike obeyed more out of shock than anything. The door crumbled easily under his fingers, and the surprised yells from within the crypt were nothing but expected. They moved, like Spike and Dawn had planned, inside, with Spike taking the lead. Xander and Willow immediately followed suit, standing at the entrance with crosses at the ready. Spike heard Willow murmuring something under her breathe—he briefly wondered if it was an incantation of some sort, but couldn't be assed to wonder any longer when he caught sight of one of the larger vampires taking charge at Dawn.

He yelled her name—knocked one of the other vampires into a pillar in his attempt to get to her, and was briefly dumbfounded when she slid under the vampire's fist with ease, spun around on her heel and slammed the stake into his ribcage through his back. The yellow eyes blinked a blink of surprise, before he muttered, "Fuck," and exploded into ash. She continued on to the next vampire, and as Spike finally gathered his wits, he joined in.

He took three of the vampire's out alone, and dusted one with the help of Dawn. This left two. A man, and a woman. Their eyes gleamed in the darkness of the crypt, and white fangs flashed as their lips drew back into snarls.

"What's this?" the man questioned, "This isn't the Slayer. Yet she _kills_ as if she is. I'll rip your throat out, little girl."

Lunging forward, Dawn let out a squeak of surprise when the female slid behind her unexpectedly fast. Spike snarled, several feet away, and feeling his own features change, he roared, "Bloody hell you will," before slipping between them with inhuman speed. His fingers closed in a satisfyingly tight grip around the male's windpipe, and turning, he slammed him up against the wall and crushed it in his hands.

"Spike!" Dawn yelled, her voice panicked. Whipping his head around, Spike's eyes narrowed, before he let out a savage snarl. The female had bitten her, and was feeding from her neck. Blood dribbled down the side of Dawn's throat, and her struggles were becoming noticeably weaker. It didn't take Spike long to pry her from the bitch, and he made quick work of tearing off her head, before slipping his arm around Dawn's tiny waist to support her as her knees buckled.

"Dawn," he spoke firmly, dropping to his knees to lower her to the ground, "Dawn. Look at me."

Dawn blinked slowly, her eyes roaming over the ceiling before focusing on Spike. She frowned, and Spike forced his muscles to relax. As his human features claimed dominance over the ridges on his forehead, and his eyes changed from a ghastly yellow to a pale blue, her expression softened before she let out an incoherent murmur. Xander and Willow came running into the crypt, then, dropping their crosses in order to join Spike on their knees around her.

"Is she okay?" Xander asked, sounding panicked, "Oh God, I _knew_ we shouldn't have done this. We should have just gotten someone else to help Spike."

"Calm down," Spike demanded, turning Dawn's lolling head to the side. "The bite is deep, but there isn't much blood. The Bit's just in shock." Lifting his eyes, he locked gazes with Xander, "being bitten by a vampire isn't a pleasant experience. But, fortunately for her, she'll heal fast. Should be right as rain tomorrow."

"Right as _rain_?" Willow asked incredulously, her voice rising to a shriek, "she almost got her—her throat torn out! Shouldn't we take her to a _hospital_?"

Spike ignored her panic, and gently cradled Dawn's lithe form against him. Getting to his feet, he ignored the urge to agree with Willow, and forced himself to think rationally despite the distress welling up inside of him. Of _course_ this was Dawn, but the Platelet was endowed with the powers of the Slayer now. Buffy would have gotten through this in a cinch—in fact she'd gotten through worse. True, it was a bad bite, but the wound itself was already closing. A shower, clean clothes, and rest was all she needed.

"We'll just get her home," he bit out finally, turning to meet Willow's wide, worried eyes. "You best let Buffy know we're coming, and to have a hot bath or something ready for her."

"What do I do?" Xander asked, as he stood with the others.

"Get the hell out of my way, you twit," Spike retorted, nudging past him. Xander let out an annoyed noise, but due to the situation, refrained from any sarcastic remarks. They left the cemetery in a hurry as Willow called Buffy, and Xander fumbled with the keys to his car.

__

_The room was dimly lit, the only source of light a set of candles in each adjacent corner. It cast a pale yellow gleam onto the stones beneath her feet, and eery shadows danced along the walls. Dawn glanced around uneasily, her hands held to her chest in apprehension despite the stake clutched in her grip. Something didn't feel right here, and it was unnerving._

"_So you're the one they picked," a deep voice rang out within the spaces the candle's light did not reach, "you're the Slayer."_

"_Wh-who's there?" Dawn asked quickly, whirling around on her feet. Pale eyes searching the confines of the room to gauge the others' presence. Her anxiety worsened when she saw nothing but light and shadows. "I have a stake," she continued, her voice sounding more sure of herself. _

"_A stake is only good to those who know how to use it," chuckled the voice. "Don't fool yourself into thinking I fear you simply because you have borrowed powers."_

"_They aren't borrowed!" Dawn snapped, "They're—they're permanent. And I know how to use them, so don't think for a second you can do whatever you like."_

"_I'm not here to harm you," the voice began, sounding amused, "on the contrary, I'm here to issue a warning."_

_A long pause, and Dawn frowned. Her grip tightened on the stake as she continued to spin slowly on her feet, eyes still searching the shadows. _

"_A warning?"_

"_The gifts that have been traded can be returned to their rightful owners. But the decision that needs to be made upon the return of these powers will end badly for only one."_

"_You mean one of us has to die," Dawn nodded, knowingly. "I knew about that part already."_

"_There is more to it than that," the voice cut in, "death does not always mean the end of existence. How you choose to go about this is your own decision, but keep in mind great things can come of__the __right one."_

"_Dawn."_

_Blinking, Dawn squinted in the light as the candles grew brighter, and the shadows vanished._

"Dawn."

Eyelashes fluttering, Dawn let out a groan and startled herself awake. She was aware of being very warm, and very comfy. Turning her head, she winced as a mild ache swam up along her throat and under her jaw.

"What?" Dawn asked, her voice coming out as nothing but a whisper. Coughing, she cleared her throat before speaking more clearly, "What's going on?"

"Oh thank God," Buffy breathed a sigh of release, running her hands through her hair. "You were unconscious for a day and a half. How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Is your neck alright?"

"I'm...thirsty," she responded, pulling herself up onto her elbows. Glancing around, she took in her surroundings. She was in her bedroom, and the room was dimly lit. Her night side lamp gave off a gentle glow, and the covers had been drawn up to her chin. She lightly touched the side of her neck—which was bandaged, before remembering what had happened. Grimacing at the memory of angry teeth sinking into her skin, she shrank back down into the mattress.

"I'll go get you a glass of water," Buffy began sternly, "Stay put."

_Like I'm going anywhere._

She lay there as her sister left the room, trying to make out the indistinct murmurs that were taking place downstairs. She heard someone scoff—and her heart seized a moment when she recognized Spike's gaudy English drawl. Cheeks filling with crimson, she recalled him picking her up and carrying her to the car—as well as sitting with her head in his lap, threading his fingers through her hair the entire way back to the house. After that it wasn't very clear, and all she could recall then was a distorted voice and flickering candles.

Candles?

Weird.

Buffy returned soon after with a glass of water, as well as a train of people. Giles greeted her with a warm, relieved smile as he awkwardly side-stepped into the small room, and Willow squished in beside Buffy. Xander lingered by the doorway, and Dawn couldn't help her gaze travel past his shoulder, towards where she hoped Spike would be. His absence was disappointing, especially because she knew that he had been downstairs, but kept her mouth shut as Willow swept over and engulfed her in a tight hug.

__

Smoke drifted in tendrils from his nostrils, and Spike lounged against the large tree placed in the boulevard just across from the Summer's home. His eyes were fixed to the second floor window, where a dim light shone through the closed drapes. He had chosen not to go up with the rest of them, and claimed his addiction to cigarettes as an excuse to go outside. Taking a long, deep drag, he breathed in an unnecessary breathe before kicking the stump in mild frustration.

He couldn't explain how he'd felt, when everything had taken place. It had all been so bloody sudden, and Dawn had surprised him more than anything. She had moved effortlessly and with grace he hadn't even seen Buffy posses. She had seemed sure of herself, and nothing in her face had given away if she were feeling anxious about anything. The vampire had caught both of them off guard—he'd moved quicker than any other he'd seen, and he was angry at himself that he hadn't gotten to her sooner.

And this is what was currently plaguing his thoughts.

Of course, he could chalk it up to the Bit being like a little sis' to him and all that.

But even if that's what he told others, and even if that's what he told himself,

a part of him was starting to doubt it. And it worried him.

Seeing her fight, and fighting with her, had almost been reminiscent of the times he'd fought side-by-side with Buffy, back when things hadn't been so bloody complicated. It had sent adrenaline through his veins, passion for the hunt, and something else. Something he wasn't entirely ready to mull over.

Finishing his cigarette, he threw the butt onto the ground, and stalked back towards the house. Maybe it was asking too much, but he'd wanted to see Dawn alone. He just hoped everyone had had their fill, making sure she really _was_ alright and what not. Setting his jaw, he stepped into the kitchen and made his way to the stairs. Xander was in the living room, and he met Willow half way to the second floor.

"She's alright," Willow smiled easily, before continuing down, past Spike. He hid his grimace as he continued up the steps, and proceeded towards Dawn's room. Giles stood outside, and he cleared his throat as Spike stopped at the closed door.

"What?" he asked irritably, "is it like, a girls thing? Everybody else got their visit, why can't I have a talk with the Bit now that she's conscious?"

"Buffy's talking to her," Giles responded dryly, adjusting his spectacles.

"Talking to, or at?" Spike grumbled, stepping back to lean against the wall adjacent the door. "Reprimanding her for doing something in a way she would have done, too?"

"Come on now," Giles responded in an annoyed tone, "this is the first time she's been in a serious fight with a vampire, and she was severely injured. You know as well as I how uneasy Buffy is about all of this. It's tearing her apart."

"She should have more faith," Spike snorted, "she's stronger than you all think she is."

"Be that as it may," Giles continued, "she's still a child. Unlike Buffy, who had proper training and guidance, this has all come on to her with no warning. While we understand that this is a necessity in order to keep things running smoothly...it does in no way mean any of us are happy about it. Especially considering we're to rely on you, for her safety."

"Bloody _hell_," Spike scoffed, rolling his eyes, "you lot have it in for me, don't you? I understand that you dislike me for boning your Slayer, but come on now. What have I done to make you think I would ever let any harm come to Dawn?" A pause. "Tonight was an accident. Accidents happen. She's alive, and she's going to stay that way. Don't blame me because I can't be six bloody places at once."

Giles heaved a heavy sigh, and refrained from commenting. They stood there in tense silence for maybe ten minutes, when Buffy finally opened the door and stepped outside. Her face was taut, lips pursed, eyes hard. Spike made direct contact with her gaze, and they simply looked at one another for a moment.

"She wants to see you," she bit out. "for some reason."

Spike licked his lips, cocked his head and lifted his eyebrows, offering nothing but a smug smirk, before pushing past her and heading into the room.

Dawn lay buried under a mound of blankets, and her small frame looked even smaller due to the articles of cloth piled upon her. He tried not to snicker as she sat up, her eyes huge in the dark, skin waxen from loss of blood, and expression tense.

Stopping at the foot of her bed, Spike cleared his throat.

"You alright, then?"

"I've been better," she responded, "but I'll live."

"'Course you will, love," Spike said cheerfully, "you've got me watching out for you, don't you?"

She smiled then, and if his heart could race, it would have. She looked very tired.

"Don't worry pet, you'll be feeling fine tomorrow."

"I had a dream," she cut in suddenly, eyes on the blankets.

"Oh, really, now?" Spike asked, before taking a seat at the foot of the bed. "Was it filled with boys and shopping?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"No," Dawn responded seriously. She met his gaze, and frowned, looking genuinely confused.

"Well then, what was it about?"

"It was a voice," she explained, "it told me that I was going to get my powers back. Or that Buffy would get hers back, but I had to make a choice."

Interest piqued, Spike cocked his head. "Oh yeah? What else happened?"

"It said that if I made the right choice, something great would happen. And then it told me that death doesn't always mean the end of existence."

Frowning now, the Vampire rubbed his chin, before letting out an unneeded breath.

"Odd," he spoke aloud, "did you tell Buffy about this?"

"Are you kidding?" Dawn asked, "she'd think I'm crazy or something. I know she's still upset about the whole 'one of us has to die' thing."

"True," Spike agreed with a nod. "Well I'll tell you what, I'll look into it. See what little tid bits the big Bad can get his hands on. Sounds like you've got the makings of a premonition or...something of the like. Never was very good with that sort of thing."

Dawn smiled and nodded, and Spike was about to stand when she grabbed his hand.

An electric shock ran from the tips of his fingers up his arm, and he looked to Dawn. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, and she slowly let go of his hand. She had felt it too.

"Sorry," she began, "I mean, thanks for helping me."

Forcing a smile, Spike tousled her hair gently before hastily leaving the room.

What the _hell_ was that?

__

Okay so, the shock _hadn't_ been part of her imagination. She'd registered the surprise in his expression enough to realize that. And as she'd let go of his hand, and muttered an awkward thank you, he'd simply nodded before tousling her hair and excusing himself. A sort of tension left the room with his absence, and she sank back down onto the bed with a heavy sigh of...exasperation.

What had _that_ been about? Her finger tips still thrummed with the peculiar feeling, and she lifted her hand to inspect it more closely. Nothing was wrong—fingers normal, skin smooth. Flawless.

_Oh well, _she thought, rolling onto her side, _it's probably got something to do with the Talisman._


	6. CH5: Down the rabbit hole

Wood clattered to the floor, and breathing hard, Dawn pointed her makeshift sword directly at Spike's chest. He was on his knees in front of her, eyes wide, and his expression nothing short of taken aback.

They had been sparring almost every night since their unfortunate encounter with the other vampires, and the new-found Slayer had been making remarkable, almost unnerving progress. They had switched from actual weapons to those made of dull wood. More for Spike's safety than anything, should their battles grow anymore heated during her training. And like he'd predicted, as her confidence increased, they had.

Smiling, Dawn pulled her weapon away from the vampire, and resting it on her shoulder, stepped back to allow him room to get up. He did so, brushing the dust off of his worn jeans, and shaking his blond head.

"You're getting bloody good at that," he remarked dryly, eyeing her weapon.

"That's good, isn't it?" Dawn beamed, pleased with herself. It had been about a month now since the switch had been made, and while she was slowly growing accustomed to her strength and more comfortable with the idea of dusting vampires on her own, Giles and the others' still insisted that she train with him until _he_ felt she were absolutely ready to be on her own.

Of course, she hadn't objected to that idea, either.

It was the perfect opportunity to spend every moment of her free time with Spike.

And nobody, not even him, suspected a thing. At least, she hoped not.

She had been putting a lot of effort into the training, and doing her own little exercises when not with him. She wanted to prove to her sister that she could _handle_ this, and there wasn't anything to worry about. Up until this point, it hadn't seemed so bad. Everyone was behind her, and Buffy had _almost_ almost seemed like she'd accepted the fact, and started to relax herself a little bit. She'd even gone shopping with Willow the previous day.

"It's good," Spike nodded, finally, lifting a hand, "I think we're down for now. Take a break. Cool off, you've been working pretty hard, Pet. Don't want to over-do it."

Dawn shrugged, and hid the fact that she was pretty exhausted. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she let her weapon slip from her shoulder into her hand, where her fingers curled comfortably around the hilt. She turned and set it on the ground, before stretching and letting out a small, soft noise of approval as some of the tension in her aching muscles were relieved.

"So, when d'you think I'll be able to go out on my own?" she asked curiously, as Spike fished inside the pockets of his leather jacket, strewn across the couch, for a cigarette, "maybe tonight?"

Blue eyes lifted from their task, and Spike arched an eyebrow. Pulling his lighter from the jacket pocket, he shrugged his broad shoulders before lighting his smoke and taking a deep, deep drag.

As the poison slid from his mouth and nostrils in a plume of smoky toxins, he tilted his head back and looked towards the ceiling of the crypt.

"I don't know, Bit," he began, "I mean, you've got all the powers, and the skill, clearly," he made a motion to her with one hand, "and I'll admit that I'm being biased when I say you're _not_ ready, simply because of the fact that I don't want to see you get hurt."

Dawn's heart skipped a beat, and he looked at her oddly, before continuing.

"I mean, of course you're the Slayer now and all that, but I've still the mindset of you being little Dawny."

This didn't please her as much, and so she frowned.

"I'm not a little girl anymore," she grumbled, crossing her arms and dropping down onto the couch, "why can't anybody _see_ that?"

"I do see it," Spike responded after a moment, and she turned to give him a sharp look. Something in his eyes was different now. The look he was giving her was..._familiar_, but she couldn't quite place where she'd seen it before. "You're _not_ a little girl. You're a clever young woman, who's got more going for her than she thinks, an' I'll be damned if I'm the reason you get any of that taken from you."

"But I _have_ to do it," Dawn whined, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm _supposed_ to. I can handle myself. You're just mad because you can't go out patrolling with Buffy. And you're stuck with me."

Alright; Dawn couldn't help the bitterness that leaked from her voice when she spoke of her sister. To anyone it should be quite obvious; she was fairly positive her crush on Spike was no secret. It embarrassed her to know that _he_ knew what she was talking about. Spike sighed, and dropped down onto the couch beside her. Letting his arm fall against the back of the couch, and rest on her shoulders, he took another drag before casting her a sidelong glance.

"Why d'you have to be so damn cynical?" he asked mildly, "you're exactly like your sister in that respect. But," another drag, "you're wrong, either way."

"How?"

Her heart racing now, she swallowed and tried to control the rate of her pulse. She could feel his cool fingers through the thin material of her t-shirt, and his proximity was unnerving.

"There is something about your sister, I'm not sure what anymore, that drew me to her. I've accepted a long time ago, that she doesn't love me, Bit. And to be frank, I'm quite fine with that. It would never work between us, anyway. There is definitely tension, somewhere in the mix of her undaunted hatred for me," he chuckled deeply, before continuing, "but there's no feeling behind it anymore, really. I don't think there ever was. It's easy, to confuse lust with love sometimes. Especially for people like us."

A long silence, and as Spike finished his cigarette, Dawn tried to make sense of what he'd just said.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Why not?" Spike scoffed, tilting his head back. Closing his eyes, he squeezed her shoulder, "You're not a kid anymore, but there's definitely a lot of things you don't understand."

Dawn tried to hide a shy smile, and elbowed him in the ribs, "Shut up."

___

He'd seen the tired Bit off with a half-hearted wave and a tired smile of his own. She had quietly closed the door to his Crypt, before heading off into the Californian sunshine, no doubt to return to her own home and crash. Thank God for Saturdays.

Once he was left in the silence of his home, Spike heaved a heavy sigh and set the weapons away. Once that was finished, he sauntered over to the couch before dropping with little grace, onto its yielding cushions. Staring up at the granite above him, his blue eyes grew distant as he recalled what he'd told Dawn not but an hour before. What he'd said had confused him, not because of how easily the words had left him, but more so the sincerity he'd felt when he spoke.

What _did_ Buffy mean to him, now?

There was no doubt in his mind, or his unbeating heart, that he still felt something for her. What puzzled him was that he was no longer able to pinpoint exactly _what_ it was. He'd been used; Spike wasn't an idiot, he could see and admit to that much. What's more, he'd let her use him. He had wanted her to find solace in him. He'd wanted to be the one she would come to; would _want_ to come to, to feel something. Anything. Because he'd wanted it too. They'd taken advantage of one another in similar ways, but the love he'd had for her was useless to the both of them. Even now, what good would come of it?

And then there was Dawn.

She'd been like him, in a way. A misfit in the tightly knit 'Scooby Gang'. Unappreciated, unnoticed.

Her spunk and attitude had impressed him at first; grown on him over the months, and eventually, he'd come to rely on her. She never let him down; always greeted him with a bright, hopeful smile. It had made him smile himself, the way a glance from him would set her heart racing, and it amused him at first, her little crush. She was quiet about it, as she should be. Nothing would come of that, either, for more than one validated reason.

But something was there now, between them. Unspoken.

He wanted to believe it was the Slayers' powers he was drawn to, much in the way he had been drawn to Buffy at first because of them. He had felt the same attraction while fighting in the crypt filled with vampires, that he'd felt when knocking down other beasties with her sister. But then, even while in his own crypt, after the weapons had been forgotten, and they would sit down and talk, it lingered. An affection growing perhaps a smidgen beyond his original feelings for the Platelet. And this wasn't good.

He was looking at her differently now, too. Like he'd said, he _had_ noticed she was becoming a young woman. Growing out of her awkward in-between years, and although he was unsure where the confidence came from, her newly found self-esteem was unnervingly alluring. Her slow but definite transformation had caught his eye, and it pained him to realize she was _more_ than just "the little Bit" now.

__

"How'd training go?"

As soon as Dawn had entered the premises, her sister was on her back. Spatula in hand, she stood over the stove, watching a frying pan attentively. It smelled like bacon and eggs. But then again, Buffy was never the best cook, so it could have been anything. Tired from being up all night training (well, mostly training—she did admit they'd stopped a few times for tea, and something to eat) she shrugged her small shoulders and faked a yawn.

"It was really good," she breathed around her fingers, "Spike says I'm getting really good at fighting, he even said I might be able to go out tonight."

"Alone?"

This piqued Buffy's interest, and tore her gaze away from the cooking food.

"Well, with him, of course," Dawn responded slowly, turning on her heel. She offered Buffy a mischievous smile, before back stepping into the hallway.

"How're you doing?"

Buffy shrugged, her small frame looking more delicate than Dawn had remembered. Maybe it was because she knew that she no longer possessed the brute and supernatural strength of the Slayer. The blonde's eyes grew very focused on the frying pan, and she lifted it from the burning element. With a heavy sigh, she tilted her head and turned to place the pan on the counter.

"I'm okay," she replied after a moment, her voice dripping with false cheer, "I mean, it's still really hard to get used to. You know me, I have that _thing_ with control." Nervous laugh. "But, it's getting better I guess. I just don't want anything to happen to you. That's the hardest part. Knowing I _can't_ protect you anymore."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room, and Dawn's chest suddenly felt very heavy. Weather it was from guilt, apprehension, lack of sleep, or all three she didn't know. Yawning for real this time, she could only offer her sister a sympathetic smile, before casting a glance to the stairway.

"Well, I'm super tired," she began, backing up towards the stairs, "I think I'm going to go get some sleep. It's really hard not being able to catch up on it during the week!"

"I know," Buffy responded solemnly, her eyes following her out of the kitchen. "I know."

-

Up in her room, Dawn didn't even take the time to shower. Shedding off her clothes, she nearly crawled to her bed, and dove into the cool sheets. As her aching body molded into the mattress, she let out a soft sigh, and closed her eyes. Knowing that she didn't have to wake up for any particular time made falling asleep much easier, and although the worries that swam inside of her were many, they faded to a dull grey as exhaustion consumed her.

_The room was dimly lit, the only source of light a set of candles in each adjacent corner. It cast a pale yellow gleam onto the stones beneath her feet, and eery shadows danced along the walls. Dawn glanced around uneasily, her hands held to her chest in apprehension despite the stake clutched in her grip. Something didn't feel right here, and it was unnerving. _

_This feeling was vaguely familiar. Turning slowly, her eyes searched the shadows, and her grip on the stake grew more secure._

"_Who's there?" she called out, sensing anthers' presence. _

_A dark sigh, and hot air swept around her, disturbing her hair. Dawn pushed it franticly from her face, before a deep voice shook the walls around her. The candles flickered lazily, and the feeling of oppression deepened._

"_There is tension growing between you," the voice spoke, as if making an observation, "It makes it difficult to work alongside one another, does it not?"_

"_Between who?" Dawn spat, spinning round, "Me and who?"_

"_The vampire," was the response. "Like all intelligent beings, he too, recognizes change. The change in you is different and unexpected. He is intrigued."_

"_Because I'm the Slayer," Dawn nodded, "he's still kind of getting used to it. Everyone is."_

_A deep laugh. Amused, almost. Rough._

"_On the contrary, that has done nothing but help open his eyes. What he sees in you is something that's been there all along." _

_The sense of de ja vu cleared, and Dawn's eyes widened as she recalled the familiarity of this place._

"_It's _you_ again!" she accused, spinning round on her heel, eyes searching wildly within the depths of shadow before her. "What do you want from me? What does Spike have to do with anything?"_

"_I've told you before," the voice responded, as if it had repeated itself thousands of times over, "you can have your energy returned to the rightful beings, without the option of 'permanent death'," a long pause. "and I've told you that death does not _always_ mean the end of existence. He is key to that."_

"_Spike's a key?" Dawn asked, now truly confused. Scratching her head, she whipped around again, still trying to find the voice of whoever spoke from the darkness, "What do you mean, he's the key? He can help fix this problem?"_

Sitting up in bed, Dawn gasped, as her eyes flew open. Gripping her sheets, she clutched them to her chest and sat alone in her dimly lit room a moment, before peering out to the window. The sun had just set, she could barely see the rays of light dipping down below the houses across the street, and the sky was a deep deep blue. Shivering, she realized she had the chills, and raked her hand through sleep tousled hair. As her mind cleared, she struggled to hold on to the dream, and slid form her bed. Stumbling towards her dresser, she fished around for a loose piece of paper, and quickly scribbled on it in pen, _Spike = the key? _

She pondered this a moment, but the urgency she'd felt in her dream was fading with its memory as she became more awake, and stretching, she tried to shake the remaining sleep from her. Grabbing her house coat, she wrapped it tightly around her little frame, before opening the door and peeking out into the hallway. She could hear voices downstairs—the lowered murmurs of Giles, Willow, and Xander, but no Buffy. Frowning, she tip toed down the hall and into the bathroom, where she was met with a tired-looking reflection. Small shadows under large, sleepy looking eyes, and a pale complexion.

Leaning into the sink, she squinted at herself, scrutinizing, before sighing heavily, and turning on the tap.

-

"Where's the Bit?" Spike asked, as he stepped across the threshold. It was now well past 7, and the sun had set about an hour earlier. Willow and Giles were in the kitchen, drinking tea and whispering amongs themselves. Anya was in the living room, reading a book, but still managing to look incredibly bored at the same time. Xander looked anxious, and as soon as he set sights on Spike, stood to greet him. Arching an eyebrow, the vampire turned to return the hello, if not but a little cynically.

"What," he scoffed, "nobody else wants to talk to you tonight, so I'm all you've got?"

"Well," Xander began, opening his mouth to speak. A pause, before he looked to Anya. Sighing, he shrugged and ran a hand through curly hair. "Listen, Spike, I'm going to be blunt."

"Aren't you always?"

His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"We all know what you've been doing, to help Dawn," Xander interjected, ignoring his last comment, "and well I just thought you'd like to know I appreciate it. Everyone does. I guess... you're not so much of a jerk, after all."

"Keep in mind, just because I can't take a lil' chunk out of you doesn't mean I wouldn't fancy it," Spike retorted, although his tone was friendly. Xander looked uneasy, but gave him an awkward smile. "Besides," he continued, "Dawn's always been safe with me. Nothin' the Big Bad can't handle, _especially_ now that we've got a bite-sized Slayer in our midst. Wouldn't dream of touching the Platelet, though."

Except, he had.  
Which was a little disturbing, for the Vampire to admit it. Because up until today, he hadn't thought of her as anything but Dawn. Vampire's didn't dream often, and Spike was rarely given the luxury. Were he to have any sort of REM activity, it usually reminisced the night of his siring, or that god awful experience he'd had when he'd sired his own Mother. No, the dream he'd had that day had nearly sent him in a frenzy. He awoke flustered, restless and _hungry_. But for more than just blood.

"So where is little Dawny?" he asked, clearing his throat, "I came to take her out tonight, for a bit of a walk round the cemetery."

"Oh, she's still asleep," Xander responded, looking to the stairs, "Buffy is out with Terra, she's trying to calm her down. She's been real...upset, lately."

Interest lost, Spike's eyes drifted to the stairs. He assessed the distance between them and his person, and gave Xander a rough pat on the back, as well as simultaneously moving him to the side.

"Right then," he nodded, "well, let me know when Buffy gets back, I want to talk to her about this before we go anywhere."

"You're not going to wake her up, are you?" Xander asked, incredulous, "she's been training so hard for the last month. You guys have been working her like a dog. She deserves some rest."

"I've worked just as hard as she has," Spike growled under his breath, "if I can do it, so can she."

He ignored anything else the stupid git had to say as he made his way upstairs, feet light, avoiding the weak spots hidden beneath the carpet. Dawn's bedroom door was open, and he could tell from a quick glance that she was not inside. He heard the distant running of the shower, down the hall however, and shrugged before sauntering into her room. He reasoned she'd be quite pleased with him, despite how anxious he felt about it all. It was true, he _didn't_ want Dawn to get hurt. Granted he'd had an easy enough time fighting alongside and against Buffy, but that was different. He'd never known Buffy to be simply..._human_. And their attraction was animalistic. Feral. With Dawn, his growing affection was almost...innocent. He scoffed shortly after the thought.

Spike couldn't recall a time where anything he'd done had been innocent. At least, not in the days of his Vampirism.

Stepping back, he sank onto the bed and exhaled an unneeded breath. Resting his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and thought over the last several months events. So much had transpired, so many things had changed. He wasn't sure if it would ever be the same. Willow didn't know anything new, aside from the only method of reversal. Which, in itself was sort of redundant. The thought of either of the Summers sisters dying set his stomach in knots. He could still recall the empty ache in his heart when Buffy had died. Now, to imagine the both of them gone, or even the little Bit. He didn't want to mull over it.

A delicious aroma filled the room then, and sitting upright, Spike turned towards the door. What he saw shocked him speechless, motionless, and Dawn in turn, looked too surprised to do anything. He recognized the scent from her shampoo, an alluring _almost_ edible strawberry smell, that wafted from where she stood in the doorway, over to him. Her damp hair hung around her face and bare shoulders, and she had nothing but a towel wrapped around her slender figure. Hugging a house coat tightly in one arm, her free hand rested on the doorknob.

He could hear her heart begin to pound, and a brief memory of his dream fluttered through the recess of his brain.

_Heavy breathing. Soft sighs._

_The feel of nails digging into his back; lips on his ear.  
That strawberry shampoo. Her eyes, huge, as he looked down at her.  
Large, trusting, needy._

"What are you doing in here?" Dawn squeaked finally, flicking on the light. Spike had to bite back an involuntary groan as she did so, for the soft glow from the bulb only set off an unnatural yet very attractive glow to her still damp skin.

"I came here," Spike said, matter-of-fact like, before he remembered he was supposed to finish the rest of the sentence. "to get you. I came here to get you. I thought we could go for a walk down to the—uh, cemetary. You know, and dust a couple'v vamps. Something of the sort."

A pause, and Spike did his bloody well best to avoid staring. He fixed his eyes on her face, and ignored the strong pull downwards he felt. Swallowing hard, he watched her expression change from embarrassed and cautious to glowing and excited.

"Really?" she asked, "like, for real?"

"Of course," Spike scoffed, "why would I lie about something like that, pet?"

Standing from the bed, he dusted himself off, adjusted his coat, and rolled his shoulders. His fingers were itching to remove that towel. Run them over the soft contours of her warm body, and draw her close.

"Ridiculous!" he spat out loud, and Dawn blinked, looking startled.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he shrugged quickly, giving her a devilish grin. "Just make sure you're out of that little get up and in something that you can get dirty in, within the next ten minutes, ay love."

She moved to the side as he left her room, and he had to hide the slow, almost satisfied smirk that claimed dominance along his lips as her heart rate sped up. Something was definitely wrong with him. If he wasn't already a vampire, and destined for Hell anyway, the fact that he received even the smallest sliver of enjoyment from this was a sure sign that's where he was headed regardless.


	7. CH6: A blast from the past

_Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God._

As soon as Spike left her room, Dawn slammed the door closed and the towel slipped from her fingers. Eyes wide, heart racing, and still in disbelief, she quickly dashed to her closet and began to fish through her drawers for some sort of underwear. Spike had seen her _naked_! Well...almost naked. Naked _enough_! He hadn't said anything, and she wasn't sure if she should read too deeply into his last comment—Spike after all was probably just playing. But the way his voice had wrapped around the words, and how his blue eyes had swept her body in the first moments of her entrance, were enough to make her sink to her knees and scream a muffled cry of excitement into a pair of pants.

Not only had he so _obviously_ checked her out, but they were going to hunt some vampires tonight!

It didn't puzzle her now that she felt nothing but excitement, instead of the apprehension she would have felt weeks earlier. She was confident in her abilities now, as was everyone else, and she knew Spike wouldn't let any harm come to her. Hastily pulling on a bra and panties, she grabbed the nearest pair of shorts she could find, and a sweater she'd already worn once or twice. Pulling her hair up into a messy bun, she quickly checked herself in the mirror. Flushed, but awake and alert. She hid a cheeky grin from her reflection, before snatching up a pair of socks and heading for the door.

The voices grew silent as she hopped down the stairs, doing her best not to look absolutely pleased with herself. She bit the inside of her lip when Spike looked from Giles to her, and his eyes roamed up her legs, torso, chest, to meet her gaze. They stayed like that, locked in a stare, for a moment, before Xander cut in.

"So remember, go for the heart," he began dramatically, pulling her down to the landing, "don't let them get behind you, 'cuz they'll cheat and go for the back of the throat."

Spike rolled his eyes, but remained silent as Giles thought to offer his own input.

"Quite," he spoke, in dry reference to Xander, "just remember that if you see _any_ vampires out in the cemetery, it doesn't always mean they're freshly sired and not aware of their capabilities."

"Okay, okay," Dawn responded, lifting her hands to ward off more oncoming comments. "I'll be fine, I'm with Spike, remember?"

"Oh yes," Giles responded bitterly, casting a glance to the vampire, "we're all quite aware of _that_. I'd ask that you not remind me of it."

"Sod off, old man," Spike ground out, pushing past Xander. "She's damn well capable of holding her own, I'm there just to make sure she doesn't get ahead of herself. Would you rather the Niblet go alone, then?"

Dawn watched Giles' expression grow tight at the suggestion, and she wiggled passed Xander to get closer to the vampire, who in turn draped an arm around her shoulders almost possessively. Her heart fluttered, and she bit her lip, before looking back up to Giles'. His eyebrows were arched, eyes sharp, and jaw firm. He did not seem amused, but instead of arguing, he took a sip from his mug, and turned away.

"Have at it, then," he began, "but you better bring her back in one piece."

And with that, they were off into the cool Californian night.

-

"Is it weird?"

"Is what weird, pet?"

"Being out here, like this," Dawn motioned to the graves surrounding them, "without Buffy?"

Spike shrugged, pondered his response, as they took a leisurely pace down the cemetery paths. They'd been roaming for about half an hour now, in silence, and he was wondering when she was going to start talking. Her question surprised him though, and blinking, he answered, "Not really. I walk round here by myself plenty of times."

"Okay, well, what about with _me_ then?" she challenged, "I mean, you're out here, looking for vampires to kill. With me, instead of Buffy."

"What is your fixation on this?" Spike laughed, "Bit, if you're worried, don't be, you're going to be just fine. In fact, it can even be a little fun, if you're in the mood for something rough."

Dawn nodded, sighed, and fell silent.

Of course, Spike knew by now that wasn't the answer she wanted.

It wasn't even the context in which she'd meant it. But she didn't need to know that he was well aware.

He had the advantage over this entire situation. It was his responsibility to play it out like an adult.

Which was funny, because he was anything from mature. But something like this needed to be taken seriously.

"So," Dawn asked, turning around again, "what would you say if I—"

Her words were cut off as a dark shadow slid from one of the many dead trees littering the perimeter, and knocked her down. She let out a surprised yell, and Spike's nerves were instantly on fire. He fell into his game face, and jumped several headstones to get to where Dawn had been pulled off balance. A hefty vampire sat on her, clawing at her face. She managed to knock him backwards and scramble away, slender fingers scrabbling for her dropped stake. Spike snarled, before pulling the creature up by his coat. Turning him around, his fingers closed around the windpipe. Gleaming yellow orbs locked into a stare, and the vampire in his grip let out a surprised, muffled gargle.

"She's not the _Slayer_," he hissed, before a choked laugh escaped. He parted his lips to speak more, before his eyes widened and he squirmed. Within seconds he exploded in a cloud of ash, and Dawn stepped back, withdrawing the stake from where the vampire had been seconds earlier. Her eyes were dark, and she had an expression Spike had never seen before.

"Are you alright, love?" he asked, stepping closer. She lifted her eyes, and he stopped dead in his advance. Her jaw was set, and she seemed wary. He remembered that look instantly; it was similar to the one she'd given him the first day of the switch. Her instincts were taking over, and she recognized him as a vampire.

"I'm fine," she breathed, her eyes scanning their surroundings, "are there any more of them?"

Tilting his head, the peroxide blonde listened, straining through the silence and what would appear to be the normalcy of night, to catch even a trace of supernatural activity. He hadn't been paying attention because he was so focused on Dawn, and the way her lips had pursed when she began to speak again. Shaking himself, he roused his thoughts from the girls peculiarly alluring physical attributes and habits, to focus more on the task they'd committed themselves to.

"Nothing," Spike began, turning back to Dawn, who seemed to be listening as well, "but then again, we vamps are sneaky buggers. If we don't want to be heard, we won't be."

Side-stepping the cloud of dust at her feet, Dawn curled her top more securely around herself as a chilly breeze swept through the area. He could tell from her posture she was tense, and her expression was noticeably worried.

"He knew I wasn't Buffy," she stated, simply, before turning her head to meet his gaze. "he _knew_."

"Well, your sisters made sort of a name for herself here, love," Spike explained, with a grin, "not too many people _don't_ know who she is; I wouldn't be surprised."

"Yeah, but what happens if they find that out and they _get away_?"

A long pause.

"I won't let them."

She didn't seem very comforted by the thought, and he frowned as she said nothing in response and continued walking back down the pathway, towards the gates.

-

He just didn't get it.

It infuriated her. Almost to the point where she could have stomped her foot and thrown a tantrum.

He followed her in intrigued silence, no doubt wondering what she was thinking. They'd just arrived. But truth be told, even though she _had_ been excited, the vampire had scared her. She hadn't been paying attention, and if Spike hadn't been there, she wasn't sure if it would have ended in the way it did. She kept that tidbit to herself though, and manoeuvred over some dead tree roots, fingers curled tightly around her weapon.

Round eyes scanning the depths of shadow around her, she sighed heavily.

"Well, look who's here."

Dawn's movement was cut short as a strong hand reached out and closed around her shoulder. She froze as Spike stepped up beside her, his posture tense, and jaw set. Glancing wildly around them, it took her a moment to regain her composure, before the deep, gravelly voice spoke again.

"It's been a long time, William, hasn't it?"

"William?" Dawn asked, turning to the Spike, "that's your name, isn't it?"

From out of the shadows, a figure stepped suddenly, and Dawn felt foolish for not having seen it their before. Her heart skipped a beat when the pale light from the moon washed down on the form now exposed, and she swallowed thickly. Before them was a young man; no older than 25 or 26. He was tall and lanky, a similar build to Spike's, but he was more relaxed at the moment. A shock of dark hair fell around his face in unkempt disarray, and icey blue eyes focused on the pair as lips twitched, curling up into what Dawn wanted to call a malicious smile.

"Not long enough, if you ask me," Spike scoffed, his grip on Dawn's shoulder tightening, "what brings you to good ol' Sunny Dale?"

"Nothing much," the man shrugged, his gaze lingering over Spike's features, before dropping to Dawn. She felt a flush rise in her throat, and hoped that neither of them would be able to see her blush. "just a rumour."

"A rumour," Spike nodded, sounding interested. He pulled Dawn closer to him, arm around her shoulder. His posture slipped and he slouched almost, leaning against the girl casually as if that's what she was made for. "and what's that, then? Must've been a damn good one, to get your ass out of England."

"That the Slayer's lost her powers."

Dawn swallowed.

"Where the hell did you here rubbish like _that_?" Spike scoffed, "I mean, c'mon James, you were never the gullible sort. I've always reasoned you were an intelligent bloke; head on your shoulders n'all that."

"Rubbish, is it? Then tell me, why is it the Witches from the Salve are my informants? Or better yet, why are they in such an outrage over the _mysterious_ disappearance of the Mirror Talisman?"

"You knew about that?" Dawn asked. Spike's stiffening response, and the smile that slid onto James' face as she questioned, only made her stomach drop with dread.

"Of course," James responded coolly, stepping closer, "I know a lot of things, little girl. You'd be surprised."

"Well it's bollocks, the lot of it," Spike snapped, clearly irritated now, "so you can prance on back to England, and tell your informants, Salve or no Salve, to bugger off."

"I'm afraid it's not that _easy, _William. See, you told me a long time ago that you'd come here to finish some business. But after breaking away from Angelus you've done nothing but piss around. I'm disappointed to admit, but even my eyes have taken in the change. You're different now. Pathetic."

"Hey," Dawn growled, stepping away from Spike, "you don't even know him. What gives you the right to say something like that?"

Within seconds, Dawn's chin was in the grip of smooth, cold and strong fingers. Head tilted back, her eyes widened as she stared into the face of this man. His eyes were like mirrors, and she could see herself in their reflection. Heart beating rapidly now, she swallowed again, and James cocked his head. Spike was stiff beside them, and the other lifted his eyes to cast him a questioning glance.

"_She_ is the chosen one?"

"Damn rights," Spike retorted, "so none of that garbage about the Slayer losing her powers is true, understand? Now get your hands off the Bit or I'll tear them off myself."

James obliged, but the smile that remained on his face was amused.

"She's quite young," he remarked, "looks a little...fragile."

"I'm not fragile," Dawn snapped, furious now. Their proximity forgotten, she stepped forward and shoved the man in the shoulders. He took a surprised step backwards, before laughing.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put a stake through your heart right now," she continued, secretly damning the soft lilt of her voice.

"She's got a fire in her," James commented, smile widening. "I like it. But prey tell, little girl, how do you know a stake will kill me? I've said nothing about being a vampire."

"You're cold," Dawn answered, "and you move like Spike does. Not to mention you're freakishly pale, and you look dead."

A deep chuckle filled the graveyard, before James eyes sparkled. He stepped back from the pair, head inclined, before lifting his eyes to Spikes'.

"She's cute," he directed to him, "but how long can you keep her alive?"

And with that, he'd slipped back into the shadows, and to her eyes, was gone.

A moment of silence was shared between the two before Dawn spun round on her heel, wide-eyed, to fix her gaze on Spike. His eyes were trained on the spot they'd last seen the other vampire, and his jaw was firm, hands clenched to his sides.

"Who was _that_?" she asked incredulously.

"Nobody, Bit. We should get back."

"Nobody?" Dawn repeated, "What do you mean _nobody_? He sure seemed to know a lot about you."

"He was a friend," Spike responded dryly, "If you'd call it that. A long, long time ago."

"How long?"

"Give or take a hundred years," was his casual response, "back when I'd first been sired, I wasn't exactly right in the head, you know. Angelus wasn't a very good role model for sanity, and I'd found him after breaking off from the group."

"Weren't you with Drusilla, though?" Dawn questioned.

"No, Dru stayed with Angelus," Spike answered, "she came to find me about thirty years after, said he'd driven her mad. James was with me when I killed my first Slayer," he continued, "and knew about the second. And the reason why I came here, in the first place."

Realization crept upon her, and Dawn was afraid to ask her next question. Spike answered for her.

"It's not like it's a secret, that my first intentions were to kill your sister. It's not really a surprise, that he'd find out about this either. He's always kept tabs on me, even once we'd separated. I didn't mind so much back then, but now it's gettin' on my nerves, a bit."

"Because you're not all evil and Slayer-killing?"

"That," Spike responded with a nod, stepping up beside her. Arm curling around her shoulder, he glanced around cautiously, before leading her out of the cemetery, "and the fact that he still is."

"He didn't seem so bad," Dawn quipped, "I mean, he looked like every other vampire. And if he was going to do something, don't you think he would have tried it tonight?"

"No, Pet, he's not like that," Spike answered, grimly, "he's smart. He'd wait until you're alone. I can't be with you all of the time."

"I can handle myself," she huffed, crossing her arms. She tried to act as if his arm around her wasn't making her dizzy. "I'm the Slayer, remember?"

"Slayer or not, you're not your sister. You've just come into these powers."

He lifted a finger, when Dawn was getting ready to shoot an angry word or two his direction at the reference to her sister.

"Your sister has been the Slayer since she was what, sixteen? That's the same age as you now. She's had _a lot_ more experience, plus a Watcher to guide her along the way."

"Well I have you," Dawn answered, simply, "And that's better than Giles."

"It's kind of ironic," Spike scoffed, running his hand over his face, "now that I think of it. But that's not the point, love. To be honest I'd managed to forget about that bastard. We need to tell your sister, and the others, so you'll be better protected. I've got a feeling he won't be buggering off any time soon."

"Why don't I just hunt him down and kill him?" she yelled, pulling away from Spike. Her grin set his surprise at ease, and his smile lifted his lips. Gently nudging her along the curb, she swayed back and latched onto his arm.

"Remember what happened the last time we went into something without a plan, Dawny? Someone got a nasty little nip in their neck. If I recall."

"I'm better now," Dawn insisted, tugging at the leather of his jacket, "I mean, with skill and stuff. Faster."

"He's lived a lot longer than I have, and I'll be damned if he somehow manages to get his hands on you. Not only would your sister kill me, but I couldn't bloody live with something like that, pet. So promise me you won't do anything stupid and impulsive." A pause. "And I know you're at that age, where thinking before you actually do something is hard, but try and be good. For me, if nobody else."

The seriousness with which he spoke sobered Dawn a little, and she nodded in silence. Her fingers tightening on the material of his jacket, she exhaled, before a soft shiver consumed her small frame. Throwing a look over her shoulder, she frowned. Spike tugged her along, muttered a, "let's keep moving," and she turned back to watch where she was going.

She felt safe now, non threatened.

But for some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling something was watching her.

-

Glassy eyes followed the pair as they left the cemetery. He was subtle in his pursuit, the reason for following them now, more out of curiosity than anything else. He had plans for the pair, he knew that much, but it was neither the right place nor time to set anything in motion.

To be quite honest, James was still trying to get over the shock of seeing Spike, a face he hadn't seen well in over twenty years, a face so familiar, yet so different to him now. Sharp, angular cheek bones, lips that would often curve up into a sinfully evil smirk, and the way his blue eyes would flash dangerously before his features would morph, and he'd go in for the kill. His lips had curved back in hostility, tonight, and his blue eyes had flashed dangerously indeed. But not murderously so; no, his lethal glare had been out of a protectiveness directed towards the young girl who'd stood by his side.

And what a charming little piece _she_ was.

The Slayer indeed, he could feel it. But something was off.

Not quite right.

He had been suspicious already upon his arrival to Sunny Dale, and what had taken place in the cemetery had only piqued his interest in the matter further, as well as given him a sense of doubt as to the actuality of the situation. James had never slain a Slayer himself, and he could admit with little difficulty, he was jealous towards Spike's achievements. When he'd caught wind from the Witches that the Slayer had lost her powers, he'd thought little of booking a flight and coming to this city, in hopes of finding the Spike he once knew. He had heard rumours about him as well, but the memories of their time together were still so vivid in his memory he had written off the claims of his "human-loving", and how he had sided with the Slayer. It had to be some sort of scheme, to get close and go in for the kill. He'd always been one for mind games like that.

But he had seen nothing but sincerity in his protectiveness towards the young girl, and that in itself attracted him to her. It did little to help that she looked simply _edible_; her long, thick hair. Skin fair, almost as white as his own, and those large, round, innocent grey eyes that belied a ferocity she kept within her he knew she had. He'd seen it when he'd insulted Spike. It vexed him. Were they lovers? They seemed close enough to be; and Spike's hostility towards James when he'd moved closer to the girl had almost caused him to step back.

Very interesting, indeed.

Spike's romances aside, James had come here not just to validate the truth of these rumours,

but to set them straight were they to be proved false. And they appeared to be nothing more then an idle story tossed around the grapevine. Who _wouldn't _want the Slayer gone? And to James, this only meant one thing. A slow, lazy smile claimed dominance over his handsome features. That alluring, deceptively innocent Slayer of his, was going to die.

**Okayy sorry it took a while to get this done, but I've been distracted / lazy lolllll.**

**I'm not sure how evryone feels about OC's, but James is my own character. Obviously if you're a Buffy fan you can tell this story is placed nowhere specific in the timeline. Sometime after gloria, and Buffys death/return. That's abouutt it. And I've also kinda changed the past around to suit my convenience, but hey it works! : D Anyway, I plan on getting the next chapter up sooner, but I'll let you know, reviews make me happy and wanna get it up there more quickly.**

**so. uh.**

**Yeah. Review ? ( : **


	8. CH7: Domino Effect

**Authors Note: I'm planning on having some smut in hurr soon, so if that's the only reason you're reading it (lolll) it'll be in the next few chapters. (: hope you like it! Review if you do. It makes my day. **

"Don't you think this sort of information would have been better off told in the beginning?" Giles snapped, as the group gathered into the living room.

"My past isn't really any of your business," Spike responded, equally catty, his tone dripping with irritation that only the old Watcher could bring out in him. "I didn't think every miniscule little detail had to be laid out on the table."

"Well, look at where that's brought us now," the Watcher quipped, "a vampire just as old as you, possibly stronger than you, most definitely _smarter_ than you, and by the looks of things, well aware that something fishy is going on in Sunny Dale, in our midst."

Dawn sank back into the couch beside her sister. Buffy was rigid beside her, worry laced on her pretty features, and she twisted a napkin into tiny little shreds in her lap. She had taken a seat there and listened quietly while Spike explained what had happened at the graveyard—followed by another debriefing and explanation of his connection to James, and then after that, another half hour to forty five minutes of Giles fuming, and endless questions.

"You make it sound like it's my fault," Spike spat, crossing his arms over his chest, "simply because I was with her when he showed up. You're bloody _lucky_ I was with her and none of you lot were, or she'd be well and dead by now."

"I could handle him," Dawn pouted, hugging a pillow to her chest, as seven pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. "I mean, he's a _vampire_. I'm the Slayer—Slayer kill vampire?"

She made a futile stabbing gesture with her hand.

"Right," Giles responded, disregarding her statement, "but this all happened because of you. If you hadn't thought it necessary to bring that bloody Talisman back here—"

"He was right in his decision, though, Giles," Willow interrupted hesitantly. "I mean," she continued quickly, shrinking back from his scathing glare, "if that got into the wrong hands, a demon who knew how to use it—well, the situation could be much worse. He was just trying to help."

"Right," Spike repeated smugly, "just trying to help."

"Well what are we to do about this then?" the Watcher asked exasperated.

"Well, we could all go out and look for him," Xander offered simply, "and then when we find him, kill him. Like we did before whenever we had a problem like this."

"But that was when _Buffy_ was the Slayer, Xander," Anya interrupted, "Dawn couldn't handle that. We'd all get killed in the process, and it would have been a waste."

A thick silence filled the room then. Dawn clutched her pillow more securely. Slowly, she stood up, and cleared her throat. Her face was flushed from embarrassment, and finally, she tossed the pillow down—heard a noise, probably made from Buffy as she caught it—and turned towards the stairs. She ignored them as they called after her, and she knew how childish she was being when she stomped up the stairs, headed to her room.

Slamming her door, she let out an angry growl before flopping face down onto her bed. It wasn't fair.

She knew she'd messed up once before, and she hadn't been out long enough tonight to prove anything.

Nobody believed in her, how was she ever going to get anything done? They were all going on about her new-found responsibilities and what came with being the Slayer, but they wouldn't let her go out and _do_ anything. Sure, it was dangerous, but if Buffy could do it, why couldn't she?

Nobody worried about her sister this much.

Was she really just a child to them?

Or was it a matter of trust?

Rolling onto her back, she stared hard at the darkened ceiling. Spike didn't even seem to believe in her. He more or less accepted the fact that she was the Slayer now, and regardless of whether he liked it, things still needed to continue as they had before, and so he went with it. Supervised Slaying Sessions. What a mouthful. And this was only after a month of hard practice.

Dawn's grades had slipped; she barely saw her friends anymore. If she wasn't in school, she was trying to perfect her technique, and learn how to use her new abilities. She rarely had a moment to herself and when she did, she was so grateful for it that she'd slip into a deep sleep. Not that she didn't love spending time with Spike—it was true that their relationship had gotten much closer since the incident. What she had thought of as 'close' before though, was nothing compared to the underlying understanding he had for her, on more than one count.

She frowned and closed her eyes, shifting on the mattress to get more comfortable. She hoped nobody would follow her up the stairs and try to talk to her. Not even Spike. She was confused by everyone's hesitancy to let her out on her own, and their lack of faith was disheartening. Ignoring the dull burn behind her lids, she sniffed and rolled on to her side.

"I'm not gonna cry," she mumbled into her pillow, fingers curling into fists. "I'll just _show_ them I'm not a baby."

That hadn't gone well. At all.

His eyes lingered on the stairs, where about a minute earlier Dawn had been, storming up to the second floor. Swallowing thickly, Spike turned his gaze back to the living room full of suddenly quiet occupants. They all looked, to some degree, a tad guilty. Save for Anya, who looked around cluelessly, and asked, "_What_? It's _true_."

Clearing his throat, Giles adjusted his spectacles and stared into his empty mug.

"Yes well, Anya, once again, there are more _tactful_ ways to approach a subject."

"You mean lying?" she asked, stupidly.

"Not...really," Willow smiled awkwardly, "more like, beating around the bush."

"Well excuse me if I'm not going to join the rest of you and 'beat around the bush'," she fumed, "I _like_ being alive. And I plan to keep it that way."

"Okay okay," Buffy interrupted, standing up. Everyone grew quiet, and Spike's eyes followed the delicate curve of her body as she began to pace. "Everybody just...shut up, for a second."

She did a full circle round the living room, arms crossed, brows furrowed. Her eyes were dark, and she seemed to be deep in thought before she lifted her head.

"This sucks," she began, "but it's here, it's real, and there isn't anything we can _do_ about it. I know we're all concerned for Dawn's safety. Believe me when I say _nobody_ wants to see her get hurt, especially me, but she's the only one who can do this job right now."

"She's not very good at it," Anya quipped, almost bitterly. Xander elbowed her and cleared his throat. Anya looked at him in question , before getting the hint and falling silent. "Sorry."

"It's a dangerous job," Buffy continued irritably, turning away from Anya. Her gaze settled on Spike, and a sudden unease at meeting her gaze directly caused him to shift his footing. "and Spike's got the know-how, can _show_ her, and most of all, _be there with her_. Something is bound to happen, and I don't want to send her out there on her own."

Scoffing, Spike tried to adorn an heir of arrogance, pushing aside the sudden thump his dead heart gave.

"Of 'course the Nibblet's fine with me. Big Bad here, remember? And it's not like I'm the un-dead babysitter, y'know. The Platelet can hold her own in a fight. She's just gotta get more confident. And you lot _coddling_ her like this ain't doin' nothin' for her."

"Buffy's died twice," Giles cut in sharply, "we don't want the same thing to happen to Dawn. She's only _sixteen_."

"How old was Buffy?" Spike cut in. "When she was chosen? And in the very least, Dawn's got a powerful witch, a Watcher, a Vampire, an ex-demon, her sister, and..." Spike's gaze ran over Xander. A moment of silence. "Him, I guess."

Xander frowned, parted his lips to speak, but Spike cut him off.

"Point is, she's not alone."

"Exactly," Buffy agreed, turning to Giles, "she's got all of us with her. We can help her the same way you helped me. And the spell is irreversible, so we don't really have a choice."

"Well it _is_ reversible," Willow began. Buffy's scathing look shut her up however, and she fell quiet, eyes dropping to her lap. "Nevermind." she mumbled.

"We'll just have to let her go out there," Buffy concluded, nodding to herself, "Spike will be there, so it won't get too bad."

Spike nodded in response, and Buffy lifted her gaze. Their eyes locked, and he couldn't help but notice the unease in his stomach as they stared at one another. Her eyes weren't cold, or rejecting. They were deep, searching, _pleading_. As if she were asking, _please, please let me believe in you. _

"I'll...keep on the lookout for James," Spike spoke, breaking eye contact, and looking to Giles. "He should keep his distance, and if he doesn't on his own, I'll set him right."

"Very good," Giles nodded, his voice clipped, business-like. "do that. Willow, see if you can find anything on him, in any of the books, perhaps? If he was with Spike during his...prime, I'm sure he'll show up somewhere. If not, maybe a tracking spell of some sort."

"I can try," Willow responded, getting up from the couch. Tara smiled nervously as she stood, before getting up and following her into the kitchen.

"I guess I'll be off then," Spike reasoned, as they all drifted to different rooms. "Tell the 'Bit I said good night, for me, will you?"

He stepped around Giles and reached for the door, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him dead. His entire body stiffened at the contact, and he glanced over his shoulder. Buffy stood behind him, one arm hugging herself, almost in a self-conscious gesture, her expression still solemn.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Now?" Spike responded, stupidly.

Nodding, Buffy's hand slid from his shoulder, and Spike turned to face her directly. She looked at her feet, before towards Giles. "Alone?" she continued, and Giles promptly took the hint and made his way to the kitchen. No doubt to fix himself another cup of tea.

"Look Buffy," Spike began once they were alone in the entryway, "I didn't really think James would become a factor in all of this. I'd lost interest in him so bloody long ago, I thought he'd do the same."

Buffy smiled then, and all the words left him. Confused, he cocked his head as she shook hers.

"Thank you," she whispered, sincerely. "Really. Spike, I don't know what I would have done without you. I mean, with all of this," she added, making a small gesture around them. "I can't be there for her or protect her. And you've been doing that for me, and I haven't even really had to ask."

"Of course," Spike responded, almost appalled. "Why wouldn't I want to keep Dawn safe? I'm not completely heartless all of the time, you know."

Buffy stepped closer, and lifted a hand. Her fingertips brushed the side of his face ever so gently. The ghost of a touch gave him goosebumps, and he blinked as she withdrew her hand. "I know."

"Right," Spike answered slowly, after a long moment of silence had stretched into two. "I'm going to get back now."

Buffy nodded, and stepped away as he reached behind him for the doorknob. He stormed outside; down the steps, the sidewalk, onto the boulevard. Fingers scrabbling for his cigarettes, he slid the pack out with trembling hands and placed one between his lips. Only when he had lit the damn thing and taken a drag or two did his body calm down, and he was able to stop pacing. Standing still beneath the large oak tree that had grown maybe thirty feet from their house, he watched the lights in the kitchen, before his eyes wandered up to the second floor. Her window was dark.

Heaving an angry sigh, he turned and punched the tree. Growling as the bark split his knuckles open, he stepped away from it and let loose a long stream of curses. He didn't know what was going on in his head anymore; what the hell had just _happened_? Thoughts of Buffy swam before him, and he couldn't ignore the feral hunger that roiled in his gut. Brow furrowing, he turned back to Dawn's window. Thinking of her face, he swallowed, before leaning against the tree. Still now, almost stone-like, he realized with a sort of dull humour that he was confused. He couldn't seem to make up his mind, on how he felt about Buffy. The ache inside of him only deepened at the thought of her name, and he turned away from the house. He certainly was a sick bastard.

Dawn hadn't seen Spike in six days.

After the night she'd met James, he hadn't shown up at the house, and Buffy hadn't mentioned a thing about her going over to train with him. Confused and a bit worried, she'd drifted through the days, her classes, ignoring teachers, brushing off friends, and forgetting about the mountain of homework that was building in her locker.

Nobody had made an offer for her to go out and hunt, and she came home from school Friday afternoon, anxiously, hoping that Spike had given some kind of word. Buffy didn't mention anything when she came in to the kitchen. She was making a salad with Willow, who was reading out measurements from a cook-book. Tara was nowhere in sight, and Buffy's concentrated face was enough to keep Dawn from interrupting. She quietly excused herself up to her room, where she dropped her bag and fell onto her bed.

What was with the silent treatment?

Had she really messed up that badly?

Well, there was only one way to rectify this situation. If her sister and the others didn't believe in her, and if Spike wouldn't talk to her, she would just have to prove to all of them that she was perfectly capable of going out on her own. She was the Slayer, after all. She didn't need anyone but herself.

Sitting up, she turned to look out her window. It was around 4; the sun wouldn't be down for at least another 3 hours, and this meant she had time to kill. Rummaging around her room, she found a change of clothes that would suit well to her purpose. Black, grungy clothes—sweat shorts and a muscle shirt, things that she could afford to get ripped or bloodied, and a pair of old gym runners. She hid them under her pillow, and pulled Mr. Pointy from her drawer. She smiled humorlessly as she looked at the stake, before placing it with her clothes.

Playing the waiting game was easy enough. Pretend to be pleasant; fake-talk about school and things she didn't do with her friends that day. Act like Buffy's cooking _didn't_ make her want to throw up, and pretend to be tired a little earlier than usual. Not much of a stretch, considering the last weeks activities. Calling it a night at 8:30, she kissed her sister good-night, hugged the red-headed witch and her girlfriend, and slid upstairs.

As soon as she was in her room, she climbed into her outfit, and tied her shoes. She took particular care in braiding her hair, and tied it securely so it wouldn't get in her face. Giving herself a firm once-over in the mirror, she hesitated a moment. She didn't look as bad-ass as she'd hoped. In fact, she kind of looked like jail bait. Or someone that would make for a good mid-night snack.

Although, she reasoned, easing open her window, she _wanted_ to attract vampires, so that was a good thing, right?

The night was cooler than she'd first anticipated, but that was fine with her. The usual sweltering heat of California wouldn't be a distraction tonight, and she could remain alert.

A quick glance to her house once she'd slipped down the tree, and Dawn gripped her stake more firmly before taking off down the street. She wasn't headed straight for the cemetery yet, but she would definitely make her way there.

She decided to get lost in the winding backstreets, and not paying any real attention to where she was headed, instead, got lost in her thoughts. She really _was_ worried about Spike. Why hadn't he come around? Had he and Buffy had a fight? Her stomach tightened, and her pulse began to race at the thought. Maybe something _else_ had happened between them? She had walked in on them before, granted they hadn't been _doing_ anything. They were close enough that she could connect the dots, though.

But Spike had said he didn't have feelings for her sister anymore.

And she could trust him, right?

"Well, well, well,"

Startled, Dawn spun around, body tense, eyes searching. Her heart skipped a beat when she recognized the Vampire from the graveyard, and she let out a breathe she hadn't been aware she was holding.

"Where is your chaperone? Or have you decided to take a walk by yourself this lovely evening?"

"Cut the crap," Dawn snapped, backing up. "What do you want?"

James looked surprised, eyebrows vanishing behind the unruly sweep of his bangs. He chuckled deeply, before looking down, at his feet, and then back up again.

"I've a proposition for you, Slayer."

It took Dawn a second, for after years of growing accustomed to her sister being called that name, it was weird for her to be addressed with the same title. And such hatred, in the way it was said!

"You see, my original intent," James began, walking forward slowly, "was to just kill you. It would be sort of ironic, actually, because William and I always had a competition, you could say, between us. He won, of course. He's more deaths under his belt than I do, in terms of Slayers. He mocked me for it, you know," he continued, "that he could do it and I couldn't. And now, here he is," a long sweep of his arm, "so close to you. What better way to get even?"

"You said original intent," Dawn quipped, backing up, "so...what's your intention now?"

"I've been watching you," he answered reasonably, as if it _wasn't_ the creepiest thing in the world to say. A slow smile slid onto his lips, and his cold eyes bore into her, freezing her on the spot. She swallowed and willed herself to move, but she found that she just _couldn't_.

"The Mirror Talisman is something that shouldn't be played with," James sighed, coming closer still. "It's not really a surprise, what happened to you and your sister. I feel a little more at peace though, knowing the truth behind all of this."

"We're doing _fine,_" Dawn growled, unable to break her gaze from his.

"Of course you are," James nodded, as if he understood, "but, you'd like things to go back to the way they were before, wouldn't you? To your sister, Buffy, isn't it? Buffy, being the Slayer, Buffy, the one with all the responsibility and worries, the burden to bare."

"There's only one way that can happen," Dawn spat, "I'm not stupid. I'd have to die."

Trembling now, she tilted her head back as James came to stand in front of her. She caught a whiff of cologne, so different from Spikes' scent. Where his was of cigarettes and leather, James was of a cool refinement—he reeked of sophistication. Cold fingers slid up her neck and gripped her chin, in much a similar fashion as he'd done the first time they'd met, and she could feel herself yield to him.

"You don't have to _stay_ dead," he whispered seductively. "You could come with me right now, and live forever. Your talents will be much more appreciated by me, I can assure you."

_You don't have to stay dead._

Candles swam in Dawn's mind, and a deep, dark voice offering her a warning rang in her ears.

Suddenly her dreams came back to her, and they made _sense_.

"Spike's the key," she whispered, and James frowned. His grip slid from her chin and he stepped back a fraction, to look her more directly in the eye. As her mind cleared, she blinked, before rubbing her chin where he'd been holding her. "Spike's the key, because he's a _vampire_," she continued. "Is _that_ what he meant?" After another second, her eyes widened and she blinked. Staring at James, she squeaked, "I'm supposed to be a _vampire_?"

His lips curled up into a smile.

"It would seem that way," he responded. "So come with me."

"No," Dawn shook her head. "I don't...I don't _want_ to be a vampire. I couldn't. Not even if Spike..."

"Spike," James spat the name in disgust, "is a useless lovesick leech, as far as I'm concerned. I'd first mistaken the two of you for lovers, but upon closer inspection it's disgustingly obvious his infatuation with the blonde one. "

Dawn's heart sank at his words, but she frowned and shook her head, vehemently.

"He does _not,_" she snapped, "he's totally over her."

"You sound hopeful," James mused, lifting an eyebrow. Dawn blushed, and crossing her arms, turned her gaze to the ground.

"No," she began, all the fight left from her, replaced by a timid embarrassment, "he just told me he doesn't care anymore."

"Regardless," James continued, "you have my offer. You interest me, so I'm willing to let you live. Come with me now, and leave all of this nonsense behind."

"What happens if I don't?"

"Then I've lost interest," James responded casually, and tilting his head he smiled. "And I kill you right here."

A long moment of silence. Dawn wasn't actually thinking of his offer—she was more distracted by what he'd said about Spike. Was _that_ why he hadn't been coming by the house? Something _must_ have happened between him and Buffy then. Otherwise, what reason would there be to avoid her?

"Times up, Slayer."

"Go to hell," Dawn hissed, startled from her epiphany.

With a small sigh, James shook his head as if he truly were disappointed. In a whirl of scent and silk, he had Dawn pinned up against a garage. Her wrists were in his painfully firm grip, and held above her head, effortlessly. His free hand closed around her throat, and the tips of her toes struggled to scrape the rock beneath them.

"You're such a pretty girl," James whispered, "you would have made an exquisite vampire."

Franticly, Dawn gave a firm yank on her wrists. She was surprised when he had to struggle to keep her there, before the realization that she _wasn't_ just a helpless girl crept up on her. Bringing her knee up, she slammed it into his gut. Surprised, he stumbled back and relinquished his hold on her wrists. Stepping forward, Dawn let out an angry yell as she delivered a rather hard punch to his face. He slipped from his feet and landed on his back on the pavement.

Grabbing her stake, Dawn sent another violent, angry kick to his ribs and dropped down on top of him. Crouching above him, she pressed the tip of the stake just above his ribcage. It punctured the delicate fabric of the clothes he wore, and she leaned into the wood. He lay motionless a second, before his eyes flew open and he grinned.

"A fight, is it?" he asked breathlessly, and after a dizzying moment Dawn found their positions to be reversed.


	9. CH8: Beginning of the End

Buffy didn't know whether to be downright pissed, or concerned. Right now, she was a jumbled mess of both. Pacing back and forth in the kitchen, while Willow gathered the ingredients to do a tracking spell. She could go out and look for her—but that would do no good, because she was in serious lackage of Slayer skills at the moment.

"Why would she leave?" Buffy worried, chewing on her thumbnail. She pivoted sharply on her heel and walked around the island placed in the centre of the kitchen. "I mean, why wouldn't she tell me?"

Willow walked back and forth from the living room into the kitchen, pace brusque, thin features pale and stern. She glanced nervously to Buffy, before snatching some candles placed by the stairwell.

"We'll find her, Buffy," she assured her, as Tara came in from the sitting room. She looked equally as nervous as Willow, and arms crossed, she glanced towards the front door.

"I called Giles, and he said he's on his way."

Letting out a groan, Buffy raked her fingers through her hair. She had an inkling of where Dawn was probably headed—neither of them had heard a word of Spike for around a week or so. She'd noticed Dawn had taken note, and she could only pray that while she was weak and useless, her sister would be smart about all of this. And God help her for saying it, but she _hoped_ she was with Spike.

"Can you hurry?" she pleaded with Willow, "With the spell, I mean? God, I _hate_ this feeling."

"I'm sure she's fine, Buffy," Tara soothed, before her shoulders tensed, "I mean, she's not a weak, helpless girl right now."

"She hasn't done a very good job of demonstrating that," Buffy responded anxiously, before adding, "I mean, enough to put my mind at ease."

"You used to sneak out all the time for Slayer duty, remember?" Willow asked lightly, setting up the things on the kitchen table. "I'm sure that's all it is."

"Yeah, but I knew what I was _doing_," Buffy argued, her voice rising in panic, "I could handle myself."

"Well if she's not out hunting," Willow responded after a second, and she hesitated before looking to Tara and then back to Buffy. A knowing look was shared between them. "She's probably with Spike. You know, nice and safe."

Dawn struggled for breath, as Jame's fingers curled more securely around her throat. A choked noise, which she was surprised had come from her, slid past her lips, and she grappled at his wrist with both hands. His expression was bored, and she kicked feebly at the air beneath her feet.

"You know, I thought this would be more fun," James comment in a dry tone. "It almost feels like cheating."

"Let _go,_" Dawn rasped, her nails digging into his skin. Dark spots were beginning to form in the corners of her eyes, and she knew she was going to pass out or suffocate. Her struggles lessened, and she tried to keep her grip firm, but her fingers began to feel numb, and her body weightless. James _tsk_'d, before he did something unexpected. He let her drop.

She landed with a thud on someones driveway, and instinctively rolled away from him. She started to cough, her starved lungs sucking in air greedily, and she pressed her head against the pavement. Shoulders trembling, she tried to focus on her surroundings even as the feeling returned in her body.

Pins and needles, everywhere. It hurt to move. Breathe. But she pulled herself to her knees, climbed to her feet unsteadily. James humoured her and stepped back, assessing her movements with undisguised amusement.

"Maybe I should make it more interesting," he commented, as she turned to face him. "I mean, let's face it darling. You're certainly not your sister."

"Shut up," Dawn seethed, her empty fingers curling into fists. Her stake lay off somewhere behind him. He'd knocked it out of her grip earlier, and she hadn't managed to retrieve it. "You don't know anything about Buffy."

"I've been here all of a week, even less," James responded, stepping backwards. He glanced behind him, and his eyes followed her gaze to her would-be weapon. "and oh, the _stories_ I've heard. Lovely. Enticing." He flashed a smile, before kneeling down to pick up her stake.

"You've got the power, but you don't know how to use it. It's a pity, really. I could have shown you so much."

"The only thing you're going to show me is how to turn to ash," Dawn spat. Right away she felt lame for the quip, but ignoring the flush in her cheeks, she lurched forward, hand outstretched for the stake. It was a feeble attempt—stupid, definitely, and she wasn't really surprised when he deflected her with a small but powerful smack of his hand. She flinched, but didn't step back to create space between them. There was tension, but she could sense that he was toying with her. He could kill her any second, and he wanted her to know that.

A quiet, dull resignation was building inside of her. Tilting her chin, jaw firm, she met his icey gaze.

"You know what?" she asked, damning the tremble in her voice, "Just kill me. Go ahead, do it."

He blinked, surprised.

"Because that way my sister will get her powers back, and she'll find you and kick your blood sucking ass _before_ dusting you, you pathetic excuse of a vampire."

James snarled, patience gone, and his hand shot out, a pale streak of white. It closed around her throat again, and she grabbed at his wrist. Breath burning in her lungs, she snicked, despite her situation, and choked, "You can't even kill me, and I'm weak."

"Want to place a bet?" his voice was a low, deadly growl. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Dawn thought it could be sexy. If he weren't, you know, trying to kill her.

"I'd be dead by now, if you were going to do it," she wheezed.

"Wrong," James grinned, and his eyes flashed. He stepped forward, forcing her to scuttle backwards on the driveway. Her back hit the door of a garage, and all the air left her. His free hand came up, and his fingers wound around her braid, yanking her head back to expose her throat.

"Weak or not, you're still the Slayer," he purred, his lips cold on her ear, "And from what I've heard, they taste _delicious_."

She couldn't muster the strength to protest, let alone scream, when he bit down violently on her neck.

Spike reclined lazily on his couch, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling up in lazy tendrils towards the granite ceiling of his crypt. Bored, blue eyes stared with little interest at the television, and he gave an unneeded sigh before taking a long, deep drag.

He'd been avoiding them.

The Summers' sisters.

What for, he couldn't quite say.

He'd mulled over it for the last week, surprised but also relieved that the Bit hadn't shown up at his door the second day of his absence. He was worried for a while, but reasoned he'd be contacted if anything were to happen. He seemed to be a crucial member of the ol' scooby gang, but only for the moment, however, because the group only really seemed to accept him when he could be of use to them. Like for instance, with Dawn.

If his dead heart could beat, he was sure it would have taken a brief pause, when her named fluttered through his mind. The familiar confusion that came with it filled him to the brim, and he finished his cigarette before throwing the butt carelessly onto the floor in front of him.

He was like a love-sick fool.

It made him irritated, for remnants of his old self had began to resurface.

Like the constant worrying, fretting over a situation that he was reading far too much in to.

For example, Buffy. He couldn't tell what her thoughts were.

Normally, he was good at reading people. Not romantically—no, that was not his forte.

Judging, assessing, figuring out peoples intentions, _this_ was an area he was well practised in.

He must have been losing his touch though, because although he could read Dawn like a book,

Buffy had become more difficult to discern. What were her reasons for being so nice to him?

Did she _want _to rekindle the unhealthy infatuation he'd had with her? Or did she maybe realize what was going on between him and Dawn?

He thought he was ready to let go of her, but he couldn't ignore the want he felt at the thought of her name. Which was all the more bloody perplexing, because he had begun to feel the same way for Dawn. His platonic affection had somehow slowly developed into more, and he was struggling with himself because he couldn't figure out _what_ exactly he wanted. From her. Buffy.

He was no fool, despite the presumption of others, but he damn well fight like one.

A loud banging on his door drew him from his thoughts, and a familiar voice calling his name pulled him to his feet within seconds. When he opened the door, Buffy stood there with Tara and Giles, who looked stiff, uncomfortable, and worried. His expression was nothing in comparison to Buffy's. Her face was crumpled into a mixture of pure terror, utter panic, and desperation. Her fingers curled into his tight black shirt, and he blinked as she gave him a firm shake. Nothing compared to what she could have done before, but a shake nonetheless.

"Is she here?" she asked, her voice caught between hopeful and angry. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Spike asked, before realization hit him. His heart sank at the same time. "You mean 'Nibblet?"

Buffy's grip slackened, as did her jaw.

"She's _not_ here?"

"You've seen more of her 'an I have," Spike responded, lifting his gaze to Tara's.

"Willow can't find her," she explained nervously, "with the tracking spell, I mean,"

"What?" Spike snapped, and he could feel his own sense of dread rising within him. "You mean, you can't find her at _all_?"

"No," Tara shook her head, and Giles let out a heavy sigh, before casting a glance behind him.

"Bloody _hell,_" he snarled, turning his gaze back to Buffy. He stepped away from her to grab his duster, and shrugging into it, asked accusingly, "You just let her run off, then? Into the night without any supervision?"

"She _snuck_ out, Spike," Buffy snapped, her panic momentarily vanishing, before she turned sharply on her heel. "Willow said she'll call me if she gets anything. For now we have to keep looking."

"What happened, exactly?" Spike demanded as he followed them out into the cemetery, "Did you two have a row?"

"She was fine," Buffy explained, her voice trembling as he caught up to stride, "she seemed like she was in a good mood all night, and when she said she was tired, I didn't question it."

A brief pause, and her wide, searching eyes swept around them.

"If she's not with _you_ I don't know where she could be!" she cried, stomping her foot angrily. It would have amused Spike to see her acting like a child in any other situation, but the circumstances as well as his mounting fear and agitation were too overwhelming to take any enjoyment from her behaviour.

"At a friends, maybe?" Tara suggested.

"If it were that simple, Willow would have found her by now, don't you think?" Giles cut in, words sarcastic despite the lines of worry creasing along his forehead.

"Tracking spells," Spike mused aloud, struggling to recall the little knowledge he had on witchcraft and magik, "They work on everything, don't they? Living beings, and all that?"

"Demonic beings, too. Like vampires, for example." Tara responded, with a nod.

The sinking feeling in his gut turned to lead, and Spike's fast pace slowed. He could feel the tension mounting in his body; the knots forming in the muscles running down his back just at the _thought_.

"James," he breathed, lifting his gaze from nowhere in particular, to fix on to Buffy, who in turn had stopped her power walking to glance at him curiously. She frowned before recognition slid onto her features. They all exchanged quick, worried glances, and Spike was not one to miss the lethal glare sent his way by Giles.

"If he has a hold of her," the Watcher growled, stepping closer, "God help me, Spike."

"No," Spike responded easily, pushing past him roughly. He winced at the dull ache that swam behind his eyes from contact, before racing down the path, to the entrance of the graveyard. "If he has a hold of her, she's going to need a lot more than God."

Why wasn't she dead yet?

It was the _weirdest_ feeling.

Dawn distinctly remembered the sharp pain in her throat as fangs separated the tender flesh of her neck, and the dizzying almost nauseating sensation of having her blood being drawn from a main artery. She was cold now, and didn't even bother to struggle. She could feel his arms around her, and realized somewhere in the back of her mind, that he'd stopped drinking from her. She was tired and just wanted to sleep now. Or die. So why wasn't it happening?

"Wake up, Dawn."

At first, she lay there. Willing the deep, sultry voice to just _go away_. She was sick of men. Vampire men in specific. Peroxide blonds with sparkling blue eyes, a killer smile and an accent to die for. Kind of ironic, she reasoned, because she was pretty sure she was close to death now. If she could muster the strength to laugh, she would have. But instead, she remained limp. Eyes closed, breath shallow.

"Open your eyes."

It took her a moment to remember how to control her muscles. First, her lip twitched. And then her eyebrow, before lashes fluttered and she raised her bleary gaze to the face that stared down at her. She could make out the moon beyond the mans shadowed features, before he finally came into focus. James was looking down at her, his crystalline gaze boring into her as if he could read her soul. He seemed satisfied, completely unworried about the fact that she could practically _feel_ her heart beat slowing.

"Why?" she grumbled, unable to finish the rest of the question. Her voice was quiet; barely above a whisper. Pathetic.

He seemed to understand, because he leaned back and drew her closer to his chest.

"Why are you still alive?"

Her eyes were huge, questioning, as she fixed them onto his. They watched one another, her body limp and sagging in his arms, as he sat long the pavement.

"You're dying, little Dawny," he stated calmly, almost gently. Mocking her. The ghost of a smile graced his lips and for an absurd moment, she found him extremely handsome. "I've drained you near to death. There are only two options for you, now."

His next statement didn't surprise her.

"No amount of medical attention can help you. Even if you were taken to a hospital, you'd be dead on arrival. Ah, yes, it's lovely. I can hear the sound of your heart beat." His cold fingers slid over her cool cheek, "It's enticing, seductive. The struggle to live. Don't you think?"

She could only stare. Vision blurring; his voice fading in and out.

"Do you want to live?" he asked curiously, with a tilt of his head. His face was featureless now, nothing but a blurred shadow. "Become like me, and live forever? I can teach you so _much_, little one. And it would please me to no _end_ to see William suffer because of it."

William?

Oh. _Spike_.

That's right.

This whole thing had started because of Spike. And Buffy.

Spike and Buffy, together. Why was she so stupid? _Of course_ he was still

in love with her sister. Why wouldn't he be? He had followed her relentlessly for years,

undaunted by her outright rejection, even _after_ they had been sleeping together.

Jealousy boiled inside her, as well as hurt. Disappointment. Betrayal.

Why she felt betrayed, she didn't know.

Because she had been left alone to die with this eerily attractive vampire, who had taken her entire future from her without a second thought? Because Spike had lied to her face?

"You're fading fast," James interrupted her thoughts, this time sounding mildly impatient, "Answer me now."

"I..." Dawn began, her voice a low, barely audible whisper. James shifting her a little, and her head lolled to the side. A slow, tenuous breath. "I'd rather _die_."

James smirked, but once she answered, seemed to have no problem relinquishing his hold on her petite frame. She didn't feel the pain, but rather _heard_ the small _thud_ as her head smacked against the pavement. His shadow loomed over her a moment, before he muttered in almost disgust, "What a waste.

She only realized he was gone when the uncomfortable sensation of being watched receded. Her body relaxed a little. What little tension in her draining completely. Eyelids fluttering, she felt her heart stutter once, twice. She could feel warmth slipping down her cheeks, and with brief surprise before she slipped into unconsciousness, she realized she was crying.

No.

No, this wasn't right. This wasn't _possible_.

He'd scented her blood early on, and knew they were close. He'd raced ahead of the others, utterly frantic as the scent grew stronger and stronger. Too strong. _Too much blood._

"Dawn!" he called, his tone a mixture of anger and concern, as the heavy aroma of James cologne hit him. An involuntary snarl ripped through his chest, and he turned a sharp corner, before the sight presented to him stopped him dead in his tracks. Not but 40 feet away, crumpled up on someones driveway, was the dark, familiar form he had been looking for. Swallowing, Spike forced himself to advance. He struggled to hear her heart beat, and swore all the way to her when he heard none.

Dropping to his knees beside her limp body, he turned her on her back. Her head lolled, and his stomach clenched at the angry torn flesh along her pale throat.

"Dawn," he bit out, fighting to keep the panic from claiming dominance, "Dawny, hey, Nibblet." A gentle shake. No response. A desperate squeeze. It would have hurt, were she conscious.

"Oh my God," he heard behind him; signalling the others had finally caught up. They kept there distance though, and he could hear Buffy drop to her knees. "_No,_" she whispered with barely contained emotion.

Spike squeezed the limp girl to his chest, desperately trying to think of ways to bring her to consciousness. He pressed his ear to her chest, fingernails digging into her bare arms. His own heart would have skipped a beat if it could, for hers was still there. Very quiet. Very slow. But still there.

"Buffy," he hissed, "Buffy, she's _alive_."

"What?" Buffy sobbed. She struggled to her feet, before half running, half stumbling, to where he knelt over her sister.

"She's dying," he explained painfully, as she sank down beside him. Her eyes watered, and her face was almost as pale as Dawn's. "He got her," he continued angrily, mostly at himself. "That sick fucking bastard."

"A hospital!" Buffy suggested, her expression brightening, "W-we can get her to a hospital, and th- and then they'll help her, _please_, they have to _help_ her."

She grabbed onto his sleeve, her eyes pleading, desperate.

"They can't help her," he whispered savagely, "Nothing can. She's dying, she's lost too much blood."

"No," Buffy cried in anguished denial. She sobbed before leaning over Dawn. Scooting closer, she rested her head in her lap. "Why Dawn?" she sobbed, pulling at the loose strands of her hair. "You stupid _stupid_ girl." A pause. "Spike there has to be something..."

A long silent pause. Her heart beat definitely fading.

"I can turn her," he offered helplessly. His eyes were empty as he looked down at her pretty, expressionless face, and then back to Buffy.

"Absolutely _not,_" Giles roared, coming closer. He had kept a hesitant distance until that point, and he marched forward with an accusatory finger pointed directly to Spike. "You'll do _no_ such thing."

"Giles," Buffy cut in. He went silent immediately, and unbeknownst to herself, she gently rocked her sister back and forth cradled in her arms. She looked up at him with such a lost, torn expression, and Spike realized with a sudden shock, that she was going to agree. "She's all I have left," she whispered. "She's too young, and it's my fault," she cried.

"Buffy that's—" Giles' began, but fell silent. Words clearly failed to help describe the situation. After another moment, Buffy leaned forward and offered Dawn's body to Spike. She was shaking badly, and her voice trembled with a fearful determination. "Do it," she bit out.

Spike looked at her. Really looked at her.

"You can't fix this," he warned, well aware of her silent heart now. "Once I do it, there isn't a way ti _fix_ it, Buffy."

"Do it!" she hissed. "_Please,_" she added quietly, "if not for my sake, then Dawn's."

That was enough for him, and Spike nodded. He could feel his features change, his teeth elongate into fangs. Buffy withdrew out of instinct, and he ignored the scent of fear that spiked from her. Bringing his lips to his own wrist, he bit down with vehemence, and tore the artery with a savagery that would keep it from healing for a while. He pressed it to her cold lips, tilting her head back, so her mouth was ajar slightly.

A long moment of silence stretched into two, and he could tell Buffy was holding her breathe. The entire atmosphere was charged with tension, and when Dawn finally gagged, relief flooded through him.

"That's it, Nibblet," he soothed, pulling her up, more securely into him. Buffy let him have her entirely, scooting back several inches even, when she began to respond. She drank deeply, almost greedily, but Spike didn't blame her. The amount of blood that bastard had left her with was so miniscule he would almost venture as far as to say it was a _miracle_ he found her alive.

"Is she going to be ok?" Buffy asked breathlessly, her posture rigid. Spike could sense Giles tense behind him, and he glanced up from Dawn's face, his expression darkly grim.

"As okay as you can be, coming back from the dead," he whispered.


	10. CH9: Life after Death

She was floating.

In and out of consciousness, vaguely aware that she was somewhere cold, dark and enclosed.

_Comfortable, she thought. _

Her mind was hazy, and she knew there was something she should be worried about, but at the moment it slipped through her mind like sand would through fingers. Quickly, silently, and then it was gone.

So instead of worrying, she simply lay there, listening. Silence. She could hear no noise above or below her; to the left or right. Not even the sound of her breathing disrupted the pleasant quiet.

And that was when it hit.

She wasn't breathing.

With a jolt, she stiffened, before her hands, which had been laying on either side of her, lifted to press against the structure enclosing her small frame. She panicked when her fingers ran over the rough texture of wood, and it took her another second to realize that she was in a coffin. With that epiphany, her memories flooded back almost violently, causing her to bang her head against the wood she lay on.

James' condescending voice, his dark, amused gaze and the way his eyes had shone silver before he'd bit her.

The bite, she thought, lifting a hand to her neck. She grew more perplexed when her fingers slipped over the smooth, cold skin without interruption from scabbing or scars.

Am I dead? She thought, lifting her gaze to the coffin's lid. She squirmed, her previous comfort turning into something similar to claustrophobia, coupled with the assumption that if this was a coffin, that meant she had to be underground. It was the only way to explain the silence.

Pressing her hands against the wood, she pushed—and was surprised when it cracked easily. Peeling away the shards of wood, she ignored the splinters as they slid into her fingertips and along her forearms. She screamed when dirt began to pour in from the hole she'd made, and squirmed and clawed at the wood, struggling to sit up into a seated position. She gasped for air—a mouthful of dirt, and clawed through the mud. It was still soft, which meant she couldn't have been dead for too long. What did that make her? A zombie?

These thoughts fluttered through her brain until she managed to push her hand through the dirt and feel cool air on her fingertips. She was tired now though, and struggled to pull the rest of herself up. Unexpectedly, a hand closed around hers and with a swift, sudden yank, pulled her up through to the surface

.

She let out a soft grunt as she pulled her legs from the hole, and crawled squeamishly away from it as it closed in on itself. Brushing a strand of dirty hair from her face, she stared down at the large patch of dirt where she had just come from.

Beyond the patch, were rows upon rows of tombstones. Up ahead was an old, gnarled Willow tree, and several stone pillars scattered along the layout. A granite crypt was perhaps twenty feet to her left, and to her right, more tombstones. Jerking her head to the left, she made an effort to fastidiously brush the dirt from her bare arms. Her thoughts were still clouded, but things were slowly growing clearer.

"I died," she bit out, looking over her shoulder. Spike stood behind her, shovel in one hand, his free hand hanging awkwardly at his side. It was covered in dirt, and she made the connection. He had pulled her from her grave. Spike's own expression was a carefully constructed mask of stoicism. She saw the tic in his jaw though, and the way he swallowed gave away he was nervous.

"Dawn," he said quietly, before letting the shovel drop to the ground. Sinking to his knees, he sat back on his heels, before running his clean hand over his face. "Dawn," he said again, more severely.

"I'm right here," she whispered nervously, turning more to face him. Glancing down at herself, she realized she had been dressed in a dark blue sundress. She had always hated it, but when their mother had been alive, she had been quite fond of it and would often try and get her to wear it. Shivering, she pulled her dirty hair to one side, before she leaned closer. He was staring at her, expression soft but wary at the same time.

"What happened?" she questioned, her voice trembling. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"Oh, Nibblet," he began, shaking his head. His voice broke, and he said nothing more but simply opened his arms. She hesitated a second—not wanting to soil his clothes, before diving into them, and pressing herself against his chest. Before she knew it, she was crying into him, inhaling deeply the comforting scent of cigarettes and leather. His arms closed around her tight, holding her to him as she did. "Nibblet, I'm so sorry," he pressed into her ear. "I'm going to get that bastard for this, you have my word."

"What happened to me?" she sniffed, her fingers curling into his shirt. Now that she was outside, she had taken in more things. About their surroundings, and about herself. How she was feeling. There was no sun in the sky, and yet she could see as clear as day all around them. An owl drew her attention to the west, and when her gaze fixed onto the bird perhaps fifty feet away, she was in awe. She had hear it with such clarity, as if it had been right next to her.

Not only that, but once she had calmed down a fraction, she could feel the energy running through her body. She wanted to get up and run, jump, do something. And then, there was the hunger. Gnawing inside her, as if she hadn't eaten for weeks. Her throat was parched, and there was an unpleasant ache in her teeth.

Realization hit her.

"I did die," she murmured, pulling away from him. Spike did not try to hold her back, and he looked almost guilty, as she met his gaze. "I did die, didn't I, Spike?" The tremble in her voice returned. "He killed me," she continued, piecing the slivers of memories together, "and I remember being cold. I just wanted it to stop. He left me there. But how?"

"I found you," Spike explained, his voice raw. "You were on someones driveway, he'd just left you there." His voice grew angrier. "You weren't gone," he began, "he'd left you alive...just barely."

"And then?" Dawn pushed, her fingertips digging into her thighs through the fabric of her flimsy dress.

"You were dying, Dawny," Spike began quickly, apologetically. With a helpless sweep of his hand, he continued. "I didn't know what to do. Buffy couldn't lose you." A long pause. "I couldn't lose you."

"So...you..."

"I turned you," he finished, his tone empty, resigned. "And here we are," he continued bitterly, looking towards her gave with thinly veiled disgust. "He took you from one world, and I forced you into another."

Her mind worked slowly, processing the information he had just shared. Yes, that explained a lot. Everything, almost. What it didn't explain now was how...relieved she felt. How completely and utterly happy she felt. A weight lifted from her shoulders, and she felt as if she could breathe again. She frowned when she did; her lungs expanded, but the need for oxygen was no longer there. One of the most peculiar feelings she'd ever experienced.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, she was surprised to see how easy it was to get distracted.

How long had it been since he'd spoken? Leaning forward again, she placed her hands on his. She was pleasantly surprised to find his skin was no longer like ice, but it felt almost...warm, to touch.

"Spike," she said quietly, "Thank you."

His eyebrows raised, his expression changed from hopeless to incredulous.

"_You're thanking me?"_

"Mhmn," she responded with an easy nod.

"I gave you no choice," he spat, the anger in his tone directed towards himself.

"I wanted to die," Dawn admitted, silencing him. A long pause, before she continued. "But now that I'm here, and feeling all these feelings..." a pause, "with you, I'm glad you did. This means that...that people won't have to worry about me all of the time," she continued. "I'll learn. I'll beable to take care of myself from now on."

"You're a vampire, for chrissakes," he pleaded, as if trying to reason with her. "I made you into a vampire, Dawn. You'll never be able to see the sun again; your friends, you might as well forget about them, too. You'll stay young forever, and have to watch those around you die."

She did admit the last thought worried her, but pushing it to the side for the moment, she shook her head.

"You can't make me hate you, stupid," she smiled awkwardly. "I could never hate you."

"And why not?" Spike asked defensively, almost as if he were offended.

Looking away, Dawn mumbled, "Because I love you."

After she had had her fill of blood, and Spike had been satisfied it would be enough to change her, Buffy had helped carry her back to the Summers' home. Willow was frantic and nearly fainted when she found out what had happened. They had spent most of the night crying and comforting one another, discussing plans for the drastically changed future, while Spike sat up in Dawn's room with her, freshly cleaned and changed courtesy of Tara, staring. Thinking.

Her body was lifeless; she looked dead, indeed. Her heartbeat stuttered stubbornly, before finally fading. The temperature in the air changed, and he heard a small commotion in the kitchen. Leaving her for only seconds to investigate, he hadn't been shocked to find that Buffy was once again The Slayer. He didn't need to test her strength; the power and attention she demanded from creatures like him gave it away. She looked from Willow to him, unsteadily almost, before nodding and sliding her hands into her pockets. She'd noticed it, too. Her eyes were red from crying; hair a mess, and clothes covered in blood and dirt.

This entire thing had been very hard on all of them.

And even though it was going to be difficult, the only thing keeping Spike from going completely mad was the fact that Dawn was going to be alright. One way or another.

They had made arrangements, and several hours before sunrise, carried her back out to the graveyard. The hole that they dug was 9 feet deep, "for good measure," Buffy had said, close to Spike's crypt. So that in the three days time it would take for the change to complete, he could keep a watch on her. She was enclosed in a make-shift coffin, and lowered into the dirt.

When she had been buried, and the others had left, Buffy had hung around. Spike had sat on his couch, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He stared at the blank television, and didn't stir when the couch sank under new weight.

"You did the right thing," she whispered, joining his gaze at the T.V. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he responded dryly.

"You've been such a help," she began awkwardly. "I mean...you have no idea."

He looked at her then, an eyebrow lifted. She met his gaze and inched closed. Put a hand on his thigh. His gaze dropped promptly to where her warm fingers rested, before back up to her face, questioningly.

"I just want you to know I noticed," she continued. "And I'm sorry that I haven't done a good job of showing my appreciation for all the things you do."

"If you're talking about the Bit," he began almost angrily, "I didn't do it for you. I did it for her. She's not just an annoying little ponce to me, you know," he continued. "she's far brighter than you lot give her credit for, and she just needs somebody to see that."

Buffy nodded, and her hand slipped from his thigh. He didn't regret it.

"And tonight?" she asked, after a shared moment of silence. "Who did you do it for?"

Another moment of silence. With trembling fingers, Spike fished inside his pockets for a lighter, and lit his smoke. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled a plume of dark grey toxins, before tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"I haven't quite figured that one out yet," he admitted. Although he knew it wasn't entirely selfless.

The way she had said "I love you" was shy, innocent, and she had avoided eye contact. His chest tightened at the words however, and he realized that it was something he'd been waiting to hear for a while.

"I love you too, Bit," he responded, reaching a hand out. Drawing her closer, he kissed her forehead before her nose, his hands holding either side of her face. "You know that, don't you?"

He clung to her as if she might slip away.

Dawn's smile was watery, and she nodded. "I know."

"You mean the world to me, Pet," he continued fiercely, "I'd do anything for you."

She nodded again, and her eyes dropped from his, to her lap.

"It's okay, though," she whispered quietly, "I know about you and Buffy."

His grip on her face slackened, before he tilted her head up so she had to look him in the eye.

"What about me and Buffy?"

"I know you still love her," she responded automatically. Hopelessly. "I know you lied."

It took Spike a moment to make the connection, before his eyes widened.

"You've got it wrong, love," he said as gently as he could, to hide the raw emotion inside of himself. The anger at himself, for letting her think that way. Slowly rising to his knees, he helped her to her feet. She stood unsteadily, and his hands held hers securely so she wouldn't fall.

"I've done a lot of thinking these past days," he began, glancing around the graveyard. "Truth is, yeah, I was a little confused. I don't want to feel anything for your sister," he laughed bitterly, "she'll never feel the same way I did. But the thing is I understand her, I know how she feels. And that's the only reason she was ever with me in the first place."

Dawn was silent as he spoke, her eyes down, and small body trembling. "I know."

"Now a part of me will always feel something for Buffy," he continued sternly, drawing her closer. She tripped forward, and he held her against him. Her hands unsure, remained near his torso, fingers pulling loosely at the sides of his shirt, "But that goes the same for... Dru," he mused, "I'll always feel something for her, too. Not because I'm in love with her. Just because of what we had."

"Why are you telling me this?" Dawn asked uncertainly, lifting her eyes. They were sparkling under the moonlight, and Spike ignored the regret he felt with the realization that she would never feel the warmth of the sun again. "Why do I have to know all of this?"

"You want to know, don't you?" he asked slyly, cocking his head.

She turned away, hiding her face, and he tilted her chin upwards. Leaning down he pressed a small but very deliberate kiss to her lips.

"You're my girl," he whispered against her mouth, "and we've got a long time to figure out what's what, now. You're still young," he paused, "and who knows? This could all be just one of those silly little infatuations you teenagers get."

"I don't think every girl falls for a vampire," she countered, meekly.

"True enough," he agreed with the faintest hint of a smile.

After she'd fed—Spike had given her some of the stuff he drank, and she suddenly had a new appreciation for him—Spike had walked Dawn home, hand in hand. His fingers were strong and firm in her grip, and if she fell silent for too long he would give her fingers a reassuring squeeze. He walked slowly beside her, his usual cocky swagger nowhere present. A serious, solemn side of Spike Dawn rarely got the privilege of seeing.

Licking her lips, she remembered the taste of blood. Pigs blood or not, it hadn't tasted that bad.

So many things were racing through her mind.

Her hunger.

What had happened between her and Spike; where did it leave them? And what did that kiss mean, exactly?

Her sister, and herself. What were they going to do? Dawn was a Vampire now; and there was no going back. How could she face her sister, knowing that she was granted supernatural powers to aid in the killing of creatures like her? Unease churned inside her gut, and she coughed to hide a grimace as they came up onto her street.

"You'll have a shower and get washed up," Spike said with false cheerfulness, "and then you'll come back with me."

"For the...erm, day?" Dawn questioned, her brows furrowing.

"Well, you'll be staying with me," Spike responded easily as they marched up the sidewalk, to her front porch. "You need someone to show you the ropes, don't you?"

"You mean, to being a vampire?"

"Yes," Spike nodded, "and you should feel so lucky," he continued, with mock arrogance, "to have the Big Bad showing you the ways of the Vampire."

Dawn smiled humorlessly.

Before Spike even had a chance to knock, the door flew open and Buffy stood between them and the house. Her eyes were wide, panicked—but hopeful, and when she laid her sights on Dawn, she broke out into tears. Lurching forward, she wrapped her arms around her sister before pulling her to her in a near bone-crushing hug. Dawn squeaked and made a feeble attempt to hug her back.

"Oh my god," Buffy cried into her neck. She leaned back, patted her eyes, and then brushed away some dirt from Dawn's face. "Thank God," she whispered, "I was so scared that you wouldn't..."

"Well, I'm here," Dawn smiled sheepishly. "Alive." a pause. "ish."

Buffy nodded, and turned inside the house. Spike stepped forward, before looking back to Dawn, who clearly hesitated. It was the weirdest feeling. She could step up to the door, but she could _feel_ the force keeping her from entering. Confused, she tilted her head and lifted a hand to the barrier. Her fingers rested alongside it, and her eyes drifted from her fingers beyond, to where Spike stood awkwardly just inside the house.

"Uhm, Buffy," he cleared his throat. She turned around, and her eyes widened when she saw Dawn standing at the door.

"Come in," she insisted, and just like the, Dawn's fingers fell across the threshold. Buffy reached for her hands, and she was surprised by the temperature. Buffy's skin was burning. It was almost painful.

"Come shower," she urged, pulling her up the stairs, "get cleaned up," she continued. Dawn nodded, throwing a glance over her shoulder to where Spike stood at the base of the stairway. His eyes were narrowed, jaw set, and so very _blue_. They burned into her memory and stayed with her while she scrubbed away the dirt.

"She has to feed on human blood," Spike commented, as soon as Dawn was out of ear shot. "I gave her some pigs blood, but you know as well as I do that in order to solidify the change, it _has_ to be human's blood."

"I know," Buffy snapped, her tone agitated, as she paced the kitchen. She hadn't invited the rest of the Scooby Gang over, Spike had noted with mild thankfulness. He didn't feel like putting up with the obnoxious comments from that damned ex-demon, or having to squirm under the stare of that stupid old git. Xander was nothing but an annoyance—his sarcasm, on most occasions, unwelcome, and an utter waste of space. The witch, he didn't mind so much. The red head was shy, quiet on most occasions, and gave a harmless impression albeit the powers she could wield. She had gotten the hint, and left, despite her obvious eagerness to make sure Dawn was alright.

"I should call Giles," Buffy started, her tone business-like. "He can help us figure out what to do."

"Bloody hell," Spike responded, his tone exasperated, "there is nothin' to _figure out, _Buffy! An' the more time you decide to take sittin' on your ass thinking about options that aren't _there_, the less the Bit has to survive."

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a lift of his hand.

"Just because she's up there now all well and fine, doesn't mean she'll stay that way. I've _seen_ it, Buffy," he added, "You don't think I'd forget something like that."

"Like you cared," Buffy responded angrily.

"It was my mother," Spike shot back, his tone venomous. "so you best shut your trap about things you don't damn well know about."

He caught himself—swallowed, and stood.

"She doesn't need a lot," he continued, fighting to hide the emotion ins his voice. Fingers splaying out on the counter, he leaned forward. Buffy had stopped her pacing, and they stood there staring at one another.

"Just a little nick," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "not even half a cup. Don't let this go to waste."

Dawn had stayed under the shower far longer than she normally would have. Granted she _was_ a girl, and loved having long showers as well as the next, but the sensations had fascinated her. She could feel each miniscule water droplet on her skin, and the water gathering from her hair, dripping down the small of her back. The soap felt exquisite, and as the dirt washed away, she marvelled at how pale and smooth her skin was.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrung her hair into the sink, before wrapping it in a towel. Grabbing another, she tucked it around her small frame, and leaned forward on the sink. Rubbing away the steam gathered on the mirror, she squinted before stepping back in shock. A surprised scream slid past her lips, and she dropped onto the floor, adjacent the sink. The water continued to fall in the shower, and it wasn't long before heavy footstops sounded through the house. A loud _bang_, and the door gave way, swinging open awkwardly on a broken hinge. Spike stood in the doorway, fist near the frame, eyes sharp and searching. Buffy was behind him.

"What is it?" he bellowed almost angrily, "What happened?"

Dawn sat there stupidly a moment, and a long silence filled the room. After a moment, she adjusted the fallen towel on her shoulders and looked up through dripping hair to the pair.

Spike's expression went from protective to shocked and then to incredulous as their gaze met.

"I don't have a reflection," Dawn offered meekly, her voice barely above a whisper. She smiled sheepishly, before Buffy let out a soft groan of relief behind Spike, who in turn looked ready to drop to his ass himself. Clearing his throat, he gave a curt nod. "Right then," he began, averting his gaze. "Well, we heard you scream," he continued. "and thought maybe something had—"

"Come on," Buffy interrupted, grabbing him by his sleeve. With a firm yank, she dragged him away from the door and down the hall.

"_She just needs time to adjust,"_ Buffy whispered, and Dawn scoweled, looking down at her fingers. Feeling foolish, she scrambled to her feet before hastily wrapping her hair again. Poking her head out the door—she blushed when she realized she'd hoped Spike was still there-0before scurrying back to her room to get changed. She dressed carelessly in a pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, before letting her hair fall down along the fabric. Taking another deep, unecessary breath, she smoothed the creases in her shirt before nodding to herself.

"It's okay," she whispered to no-one in particular. "You can _do_ this."

"Well she could have been _hurt_," Spike tried to reason, sinking back into the couch. "I mean, she screamed and all that. How was I supposed to know?"

"You're right," Buffy replied, rubbing her temples. Spike noticed that her fingers trembled as she massaged the skin, and he ignored the urge to say something comforting. She had smacked him upside the head when they'd come downstairs, and the damned spot was still a little tender.

"It'll just take some getting used to," she repeated, dropping down into the large chair adjacent the couch. She looked dazed, and her knuckles were white as she set her hands in her lap. "What am I going to do, Spike?" she continued. "I mean...I got her killed."

"Come on now," Spike responded lamely, leaning into the couch. "it couldn't be helped, it was out of your power, really."

"If I hadn't dropped that stupid..._thing_," she answered, almost as if to herself, "She never would have been put in this position. She is where she is now because of _me_."

"That's a load of bollocks, and you know it," Spike snapped, leaning forward. Resting his elbows on his knees, he stared at his interlaced fingers before lifting his gaze. "I mean, regardless of the who Slayer-switching bit. James still would've been here."

"How do you know?" Buffy asked, meeting his gaze. "And if he had, he would have come after _me,_ not...not Dawn."

"You don't know that," Spike cut in. "James isn't an idiot. He'd have figured out sooner or later what your weakness was. He would have gone after her anyway."

"I wouldn't have let him _near_ her," she seethed angrily. "He would have been dust the second he threatened _any_ of my friends."

"Don't you worry," Spike answered, his voice deep, promising, "I've got something in mind for him."

"Don't do it fast," she growled, twisting the fabric of her jeans between her fingers. She stopped when the cloth tore, and grew still. "Make him suffer," she continued, "make him _sorry_."

They shared a moment of silence, before a soft cough drew their attention to the stairway. Dawn stood there awkwardly, hands in the pockets of her hoodie. Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and she looked between the two, guiltily.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked quietly, and Buffy and Spike spoke at the same time.

"No."

They exchanged a quick glance, before Buffy cleared her throat and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Actually, Dawny," she began slowly, "we were just..talking about your condition."

"Condition?" she asked, sending a look to Spike. He glanced at Buffy questioningly.

"Well, you're a vampire now," Buffy responded, awkwardly. "And you need to...feed."

"I did already," Dawn answered brightly, "Spike gave me some of his blood."

"That won't do it," Spike interrupted, "It was meant to tide you over until..."

"Until what?"

"Until you could get some human blood," Buffy finished. "You need it in order to complete the change."

"Oh."

Spike swallowed thickly. The tension in the air was suddenly stifling, and noone said a word, until Dawn finally broke the silence.

"Where am I going to get it?"

Buffy took a deep breath, and Spike frowned. He hadn't thought of that one.

Parting his lips, he was shocked into silence when Buffy interrupted him.

"From me."


	11. CH10: It's just a scratch

"Now hold on just a minute," Spike began, as Buffy fumbled with the collar of her shirt.

"Why?" Buffy asked curtly, her brow set as she exposed more of her neck. Spike couldn't help but let his gaze wander down the line of her jaw to her throat. His teeth ached at the slight hint of blue veins running just below her tan skin. "You said it yourself, she needs to feed on human blood. _Now._"

"Bloody hell," he growled, getting to his feet. Dawn stood in the entryway to the living room, hugging her elbows almost warily. It didn't escape the other vampire however, that her eyes were fixed on Buffy's neck, much in the same way his own had been several seconds earlier. Snatching Buffy by the upper arm, he yanked her to her feet. She stumbled before throwing her fist out. He buckled over as it connected with his gut, before growling in irritation. Standing, he grabbed her fist before turning and twisting it against her back. Buffy let out a soft yelp, as he pulled her back against his chest to keep her from doing any other nasty tricks.

Sending a brief smile to Dawn, Spike fixed his gaze back to Buffy.

"Now pet," he began in a soothing tone, "why don't we just mosey on into the kitchen an' have a bit of a chat before we decide to make any _completely rash _decisions?"

No response, and he jerked her arm back farther. She winced, before he nodded, satisfied.

"Right then, off we go."

He gently shouldered past Dawn, who stepped aside and watched them leave the room.

"Let _go_ of me," Buffy snapped, jerking her arm from him, as he'd looked over his shoulder to make sure the Bit had stayed put. He stepped away from a blind swing, before slipping around the island in the centre of the room to put some distance between them.

"What's your _problem,_ Spike?" she asked, rubbing her shoulder gingerly, "You said it yourself," she added in a fierce whisper.

"I didn't mean from _you_, you git," Spike retorted incredulously. "She's a newly sired vampire," he continued in explanation, "and you're offering her _the Slayer's_ blood? D'you have any idea what that would do to the her?"

Buffy paused in hesitation, before dropping her eyes to the marble under Spike's fingers.

"No."

"It'd drive her bloody mad, is what it'd do," Spike answered, "or turn her into a raving blood-crazed leech. Even a vampire with the best self control would have a difficult time pulling away from you. And Slayer's blood is strong, there's not guarantee I'd be able to pull the Nibblet off you before you were seriously hurt."

She paused, seemed to think about it. Glancing back to the living room, she inched closer to Spike, lowering her voice.

"Not even a little bit?"

"No," he answered firmly. "None of it," he continued for good measure.

"Well then, who can we get over here at this hour? It's so late...I _knew_ I should have called Giles. He wouldn't have minded. In fact, he actually wanted me to tell him when you brought her back."

"Well that old ponce isn't going to do a lot of good unless he's offering his blood," Spike spat bitterly, crossing his arms. "All he does is drink his tea and piss and moan about things he has no intention of involving himself in. He's called a _Watcher_ for a reason, you know."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy chewed on her thumbnail.

"Willow?"

"She's a witch," Spike answered, before frowning. "Where is she, anyway? And her girly friend?"

"They're over at Anya's and Xanders," she responded dismissively. There was a collective silence, before they lifted their eyes and their gazes met.

She wasn't stupid.

Dawn simply summed it up to the both of them not being used to her new-found Vampirism. Hell, _she_ certainly wasn't. But it would be a stretch for her to say she _didn't_ like the fact that, even sitting in another room, she could overhear her sister's conversation with Spike no problem. She'd frowned when they'd argued, briefly recalling something about James' saying that a Slayer's blood _was_ really good. She could admit that she was feeling the burn along her jaw, and the uncomfortable ache in her teeth had returned. Unable to sit still any longer, she tuned out of the conversation and rose silently to her feet.

Staring out the window that overlooked the lawn, her eyes focused onto the glass and she was momentarily disturbed at her lack of reflection. That would _definitely_ take some getting used to. How was she going to know if her hair was right? Or a mess? Or if her make-up was smudged? Or if she had something on her face?

She was drawn from these distressing thoughts when Buffy re-entered the room. Spike followed, face a little anxious.

"We called Xander," Buffy explained, when she turned from the window to look at the two. "He said he'll be here as soon as he can."

"What for?" Dawn asked, frowning. A slow realization crept up on to her. "Oh."

Xander had shown up not but half an hour later, Anya in tow. Her arm clung fiercely to his, and her eyes narrowed as they fell onto Dawn, stepping inside the house.

"I don't see how this is fair," she whined as soon as the door was closed, "Why does _Xander_ have to do it? Can't you find some useless human for her to feed off of? It'd be a lot easier, and she could finish him off. One less waste of space."

"Come on, Anya," Xander tried to soothe nervously, giving the group a warm smile. "It's Dawny we're talking about, remember? It's no big deal."

"Well it is to _me_," she pouted, and Dawn smiled uncomfortably in response to her scathing glare.

"Okay, well just sit down," Buffy motioned to the chair. "Anya, do you want something to drink?" she continued quickly. "Come into the kitchen with me."

Without waiting for a response, she pried Anya away from Xander as he moved to sit down. She gave a loud, incoherent verbal protest, throwing a glance over her shoulder before disappearing. As Xander lowered himself into the chair, he rubbed his hands together, no doubt to feign a nonchalance that was obviously not present.

"Soooo," he began with a nod to Spike, and then Dawn, "How do we, uh, how do we do this, exactly?"

"Well you see," Spike began dryly, stepping closer. He guided Dawn forward, and she tripped up to Xander before righting herself. "The Nibblet here is gonna take a bite. Not a big one, mind you, but a bite. It's gonna hurt," he added, lifting a finger, "but only for a second. It actually feels quite nice if you don't struggle. And I advise you don't," he warned, "she's new at this, and the demon inside her will get excited if there's a fight. Don't want to have to clean up a nasty mess."

Xander swallowed. Dawn gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, before he leaned back into the chair. She climbed into his lap, straddling him for comfort, and he tensed when she rested her hands on his shoulders.

"I won't hurt you," she whispered awkwardly. "Not on purpose, anyway."

Xander's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Now," Spike began, all business, "it doesn't take much, really. Just lean in, and smell him. Feel his skin on your lips. It's kind of like seducing the demon," he added, "but make sure you're in control."

"What if I mess up?" Dawn asked worriedly, looking to Spike. He was kneeling beside the chair, and their eyes were level. His were a wicked blue, hard with concern—for who, her or Xander?—but also believing.

"I'm right here," he reassured her, before looking to Xander, "Nothing bad is going to happen."

"Okay," Dawn responded quietly, before leaning forward. She felt goosebumps raise along her skin as her lips brushed Xander's throat, and the scent of his skin coupled with his nervousness set something off inside her. The change in her face was quick, and perhaps one of the weirdest things she'd ever felt. Her teeth grew sharper, and she could feel the ridges on her forehead become more defined. His heart beat grew louder, and she made a soft noise before licking his neck. It excited her when the steady _thud-thud _grew quicker, and before she knew it, she sank her fangs into his throat.

Xander let out a soft groan; jerked once, before relaxing into the chair. Spike watched with what could only be described as jealousy. But not for the reasons one would assume. Of course he would admit he missed the feel of flesh giving way under his fangs, but the intimacy Dawn's feeding exhumed made him feel almost naughty for watching.

The changes were subtle at first, and when Dawn's skin began to glow with the borrowed essence she was taking from Xander, Spike leaned forward and grasped her shoulders. She resisted at first, before he firmly pulled her away from him. His head lolled to the side, and Dawn looked from Xander to Spike, her yellow eyes huge and pupils largely dilated.

"Come on," Spike said gently, easing her off of Xander's lap. He gave the other man a look, before slipping his arm around the girls shoulder, "Let's go to the kitchen and get the bloke a cookie or something, shall we?"

"Not like this," Dawn whispered, resisting when he stepped forward. Her hands came up to feel along her face, and her grimace showed she didn't much fancy the change. "I don't want Buffy to see me like this," she added in a panicked whisper.

"Relax, pet," Spike reassured, squeezing her shoulders. "It's sort of a conscious thing," he continued with a cheerfulness he didn't feel. "If you don't think about it, it'll go away. Simple as that, really."

Dawn looked doubtful, but she took a deep breath—Spike noticed it right away. Human habits were hard to break. Hell, he'd been sired well over a hundred years earlier, and he _still_ did it. He liked the feeling though. Her features relaxed, and he would be lying to say he wasn't relieved when her forehead smoothed, and her features returned to the familiar face he was used to seeing. She opened her eyes hopefully, and he offered her a lopsided grin before hugging her to his side.

"Wasn't so hard now, love, was it?"

She touched her face again, before smiling meekly. It vanished when Xander made a soft noise behind them, and she left Spike standing in the room. No doubt to get him some orange juice, or a cookie or something of the likes. He watched her go, before turning back to Xander. Turning the mans head as gently as he could—that bloody chip was still lodged in his skull, didn't want to cause himself any unnecessary pain—he inspected the bite marks. They weren't remarkably deep, and she had bitten relatively near the artery.

"You'll be alright," Spike reassured Xander, as his dark eyes fixed onto him. He gave the mans cheek a good-natured pat, and winced when he delivered it a little harder than he would have liked. Rubbing the back of his head, he stood as Dawn re-entered the room, Buffy and Anya in tow.

Anya rushed over to where Xander sat, a cup of juice in one hand and a small plate of sugar cookies in the other. Sinking to her knees, she coaxed him to take the drink before shooting an angry glare to Dawn.

"Did you need to take so _much_?" she asked accusingly, "he's not like a buffet, you know."

"Sorry," Dawn mumbled apologetically. Spike frowned. He'd never _liked_ Anya; he couldn't even remember why he'd slept with her in the first place. She was loud, blunt, _annoying_. More so than him, he liked to think.

"It's okay, Nibblet," Spike countered, his tone dry, a little irritated. "Xander did it on his own. You didn't force him into anything. She's just jealous because she has to share."

"Shut up, Spike," Anya frowned, but he swore he could almost detect the hint of a pout marring the corner of her lips.

"How're you feeling?" Buffy asked anxiously, and Dawn looked to Spike, before her sister.

A pause, before she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'm feeling...great, actually. Better than great."

Buffy's shoulders relaxed, and Spike crossed his arms. Dawn looked uncomfortable, and he could take a few guesses as to why. He could still remember his first feeding well. It was frenzied, violent, and the hunger never really _stopped_. Not after his first taste. It took almost a week of endless murder to slate his lust for blood, and the expression written on the Bit's face now showed she was experiencing something similar.

"I hate to kill the party," Spike began, clasping his hands together, "but I think it's time Dawn and I got back to the crypt."

"You just got here," Buffy responded, her tone a mixture of confusion and irritation. "I want to make sure Dawn is okay."

"She's fine, I assure you," Spike responded dryly, stepping closer to Dawn. Buffy's green eyes were searching as she met Spike's gaze, and he looked at her a little uncomfortably. Dawn inched closer to him, and automatically he pulled her close, arm casually around her shoulders. Sort of a habit he'd formed recently.

Buffy seemed to notice, and she frowned, before crossing her arms.

"Why do you need to leave?" she asked.

"Dawn's had a rough time of it tonight," Spike responded, "and believe it or not," he continued cockily, "although we may seem invincible, we're not. She needs _rest_, Buffy. And maybe a little time alone to sort things out. The lot of you hanging 'round won't do much for her at the moment."

"And what about you?" she scoffed. "You'd be with her."

"You're damn right I would be," he responded, squeezing her shoulder. "Moral support and all that. You know, from the same _species_."

This seemed to baffle the Slayer, for she simply nodded, and remained peculiarly silent. Anya didn't say anything as she showed them to the door, but Xander managed a weak wave and a , "Bye, Dawny," before the three of them stepped out onto the porch. Willow and Tara had decided to stay back the the apartment, for fear of overcrowding the place. Spike was thankful, for it probably would have been too much. The ex-demon was already grating on his nerves.

Buffy gave Dawn a long hug. Dawn responded stiffly, and Spike pulled her away with an uneasy smile.

"Careful, Buffy," he warned. Buffy looked startled before clearing her throat.

"Okay well I'll come by and see you tomorrow night," she began, playing with her fingers awkwardly. "and then we can...we can figure something out from there."

"Okay," Dawn responded. "What am I going to do about...school?" she asked, hesitantly. "I mean, I can't just _drop out_."

"I've got something...in mind," Buffy responded distractedly, scratching the side of her neck. "We'll talk more about that tomorrow, though. I'll know more by then."

"Right then," Spike nodded, "we'll be off."

Dawn gave Buffy another quick hug, before stepped off the porch and onto the lawn. Spike passed her, and Buffy grabbed his arm, jerking him back. Their gazes met and her eyes were angry; desperate.

"How can you be so _calm_?" she hissed.

"I'm not," Spike responded unsteadily. "I've just had a lot of practice pretending that things don't matter."

His tone was cold; accusatory, and he locked gazes with her before ripping his arm free from her grasp. Turning his eyes to follow Dawn as she paced along the sidewalk, he stepped down off the porch and onto the lawn. He could feel Buffy's gaze on him as he sauntered over to the Nibblet, and was surprised at how easy it was not to look back. Dawn did, however, and when she looked up to Spike after they'd started walking from the house, she asked, "Did you guys have a fight?"

"No," Spike responded if not a bit stiffly. With a heavy sigh, he pulled Dawn to him and kissed the top of her head. "In all honesty, I think we're just drawing to an end."

"What do you mean?"

"She doesn't need me anymore," Spike answered, simply. His smile was quick, and he missed the way her heart would race when he looked at her. "and I don't need her."

Dawn's own smile was shy, and she tried to suppress it by pursing her lips together. Lowering her eyes, she watched the sidewalk in front of them, their pace easy, and the silence that followed his words comfortable. Despite the fact that guilt was still churning inside of him, and the anger that was boiling to the surface at James—who had given himself a death sentence—he was, for the moment, blissfully happy. There had been a long stretch of moments three days before where he thought he would never get the chance to hold Dawn next him again. Talk to her, or see her smile.

He'd felt empty at the thought of a life without her. She was always so chatty and brave, despite her mortal fragility. She had a fire in her that had drawn him to her, much like her sister. But unlike Buffy she hadn't been corrupted or damaged by years of killing things that went bump in the night.

He frowned, and Dawn made a noise when his grip on her shoulder tightened almost painfully. But he had turned her _in_ to one of those creatures. All was fine and dandy now, but he knew that once the full weight of what he'd done to her had settled in, Dawn's outlook might become a little different. She might not be so easy to forgive.

She might _hate_ him.

And that was what he was afraid of.

They made it back to his crypt shortly before sunrise, and he knew that it was already having an effect on Dawn. He helped her inside, and made sure the door was sealed entirely before leading her back down to the space he'd personalized for himself. The bed that was there looked inviting, and she didn't argue when he helped her take her shoes off. She crawled onto the mattress and he watched her flop down, exhausted. He shrugged off his duster, before kicking off his own boots. Letting out a heavy, unneeded sigh, he raked his hands through his tousled blonde hair before watching her. She was already asleep.

Smiling to himself humorlessly, he joined her on the bed. Easing himself gingerly onto the mattress, he stared up at the canopy draped over the high posts of the bed. So much had happened in the last six months. It wasn't unusual for something to be going down in Sunny Dale, but for something to have such a large effect on Buffy and her family, it was definitely peculiar. James had mentioned something about the witches of the Salve, and he frowned when recalling the comment.

The witches from the Salve were known for causing mischief of all kinds. He momentarily toyed with the notion that James had premeditated more than he'd let on, but quickly brushed it aside. He knew James had a strong dislike for him, since switching sides—he chalked it up to misery over the loss of a good friend and murdering companion. That, and a strong distaste for all Slayer's everywhere. Granted, the second was a given to most creatures that were born from the Hell Mouth, but he wouldn't _really_ put it past him to arrange something like this. Giles hadn't been wrong when he'd said James had been smarter than Spike himself. He was more calculating, devious. Evil.

"Spike?"

Drawn from his thoughts, Spike glanced to Dawn. She'd rolled over and was watching him quietly, her blue grey eyes heavy with sleep.

"Hmm?" he asked, turning more directly to face her, "What is it, Pet?"

"I'm scared," she whispered through her fingers.

"Of what?" Spike asked, scoffing gently. He brushed a strand of hair off her face. "You're a vampire, love. Things are usually afraid of _you_."

"That's not what I mean," Dawn continued, her voice low, worried. "I'm scared about...forever."

"D'you mean the 'living for eternity' bit?" Spike asked, with a frown.

Nodding, she hid her face behind her hands.

"I mean...I've always been afraid of _dying_...but now, I'm afraid of..."

"Living," Spike finished with a nod. Clearing his throat, he inched closer to Dawn and stretched his arm out. She took the hint and scuttled closer, nestling into his side. His fingers absently played with her hair, and a moment of silence filled the room while he thought of something to say that would comfort her.

"It gets easier," he began slowly, "once you get used to the idea. It doesn't seem so bad, really."

"What about when..." Dawn trailed off, before swallowing. "When everyone _dies_?"

Grimacing, and unsure exactly how to answer, Spike sighed deeply.

"Listen, Dawn, it's different with everyone. And I'm not going to say it'll be easy; dealing with the death of someone you care about is always going to be hard. But, with me for example, I find it _does_ get easier. You just need to treat everything as experience; not let it effect you too much, is all."

"So basically, stop feeling?" she yawned.

He smiled humorlessly, before squeezing her to him. "Something like that."

They lay there in silence, and just when Spike had suspected she'd slipped into unconsciousness, she asked, "Spike?"

"Mm?"

"Can you kiss me again?"

The question caught him off guard, and he took a moment to respond.

"'Course," he answered finally. She offered him a sleepy smile, and he rolled onto his side. Leaning over her, he smoothed her hair back from her face. His thumb ran along her cheekbone before tracing the bottom of her lip. She blinked slowly, eyes glossy. He knew what she was experiencing. The euphoria after the first drink of human blood. It was like a drug, very much so, and was highly addictive. She smiled as their eyes met, and lifted a hand to brush the skin of his jaw. Her fingers left a trail of goosebumps, and he lowered himself to brush his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow at first, and Dawn tilted her head up to accept his mouth. His hand slid into her hair, and he pulled her up to the kiss; she yielded to him. He could feel the demon inside him grow interested when she wrapped her arms around his neck. She smiled before playfully biting his lip, and he groaned along her lips before pressing her back into the mattress and lowering himself onto her.

Nestling himself between her hips, his free hand roamed down the side of her body, palming her curves, and then hooking his fingers behind a knee. Pulling it up to his waist, he pulled back with a soft pant when she lifted her other to join it wrapped around him.

"This is a bit more 'an a kiss, Nibblet," he rasped, as her fingers slid into his hair.

"I want it," Dawn whispered, her voice unsteady.

"You might think you do," Spike answered, pressing his lips to her neck. She smelled so good; a longing to bite her sent shivers up his spine, and the ache in his teeth grew almost unbearable. "but when you wake up tomorrow, will you still feel the same way? I'm not a gentle lover, Pet."

"I _want_ it," Dawn growled, pulling herself up onto her elbows. He leaned back slightly, and they stared at each other. Dawn's eyes were cloudy; full of a desire that was far from childish.

"I'm _not_ the little kid you all seem to think I am, Spike," she breathed almost angrily. "And I'm not going to break."

Spike hesitated. His hesitation wasn't because he didn't want to—that was quite the opposite. His blood was on fire for her. The only thing that kept him from continuing was Buffy. She'd _kill_ him. But not before cutting off his man parts and dangling them in front of him as he turned to ash. He hid his grimace, and parted his lips to speak.

"Don't even say her name," Dawn growled, her brow furrowing. "What I do is _my_ decision," she continued fiercely, "and this is my decision."

He was about to protest, but she lifted her hips. The friction was delicious, and it caught him off guard. The groan that left his mouth instead of a protest was all she needed, and she leaned in again to kiss his lips.

If she still had a heart beat, it would have been beating dangerously fast. She felt flushed, and somewhere in the recess of her mind, Dawn knew it was because of Xander's blood. Spike had returned her kiss, which she had simply done without thinking, and taken charge. Her clothes were on the floor, and he was in the process of removing his. His belt hit the floor, and when he pulled his shirt over his

head, she could only stare stupidly.

His body was lean, muscular. It kind of reminded her of a cat. Nubile and dangerous.

His hands were warm as he traced them up her body, and she shivered when his stomach pressed into hers. Their skin touching was probably the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced, and her back arched off the bed as his mouth closed around one of her nipples. She burned, inside and out, and unable to figure out what to do with herself, she writhed as he lapped at one breast before moving to the other.

"_Spike_ ," she groaned, as his hands travelled south. She didn't know what she was trying to say, so instead she just repeated his name over and over again. His fingers consumed every inch of her skin as his mouth moved lower, and lower, and he seemed to like hearing his name on her lips, for he gave the inside of her thigh an approving kiss before lowering his mouth between them.

"_Ohmygod,_ " Dawn moaned, squirming as he ran his tongue over her sex. She bit her lip, and was surprised when she tasted blood. Panting now, she sucked in lungfuls of unneeded air, running her hands over her face and down her body; tearing at the sheets under her as Spike grabbed her thighs and pulled her hips up, and closer to him.

The feelings escalated, and he was relentless. Her body grew warmer and warmer, until she couldn't contain the building pleasure. She let out a low whimper as her small body was seized in spasms, and Spike drew back only after she had calmed down.

"Roll over," he demanded, and she did so. He pulled her back up against him, and she could feel his erection pressing into her backside. She briefly wondered when he'd taken his pants off, before he grabbed a hold of her hip. She stiffened when she felt him at her entrance, before he leaned forward. Lowering his mouth to her neck, he gave her a particularly hard bite at the same time he thrust inside.

She couldn't exactly tell which one had hurt more, and he didn't slow to give her time to adjust to his size and girth. The pain was almost all-consuming, and she let out a small cry as he rocked back into her.

"It hurts," she bit out. Spike growled against her ear, finger nails digging into her hip.

"You wanted it," he answered, his voice a deep pant.

He did slow his thrusts however. It still hurt, and Dawn was about to voice her complaint when he angled her hips. Her words were cut off by a loud moan, and a sensation that felt even _better_ than his tongue. Catching on, Spike rolled her over, onto her knees. She squeaked when he pulled her hips back, and lifted her ass up in the air. Face pressed into the sheets, she clung to the bedding as he leaned back in.

Her stomach warmed, and her toes curled as he continued.

_Bloody fucking hell._

Spike was in a haze. He couldn't tell which was more pleasurable; the sensation of Dawn squeezing him almost painfully as he rocked inside of her, or the sight of her bent over and taking it as he stole her innocence. He felt bad, only marginally, for the pain. He hadn't wanted it to hurt, but it would have either way. There were more than one reasons why he was called _The Big Bad_, and she was a virgin, after all.

The demon inside of him raged, and leaning forward, he gave a particularly hard thrust. Her answering whimper drove him mad, and he ran his mouth along the nape of her neck. He could feel his features change, and the hunger in him escalate. His fangs sank into her skin easily enough, and the feeling was so powerful he moaned loud against the wound. Warm blood slid from the punctures—still fresh, from her feeding. He lapped at it, and simply fucked her harder, desperate to hear her cry his name.

And she did, his name muffled by the pillows, and her incoherent sobs. He was getting close, and he knew she was too. Pulling away from her required more control than he thought, and flipping her onto her back, Spike lowered himself. Brushing her hair away from her sweaty face, he positioned himself and rocked forward. The tightness that welcomed him almost sent him over the edge, and he leaned down to kiss her. Her lips were slack against his as he held her to him, but more so from the cornucopia of feelings that were consuming her entirely. He pulled her hips up, and gave a last few several thrusts, and when she moaned his name in his ear, coupled with her walls tightening in a vice-like grip around him, he muttered, "_Fuck_, Dawn," before giving in to the pleasure.

They lay there, in silence after. Spike's head resting on her shoulder. She was very still, but he noticed she was trembling. Lifting his head, his eyes roamed over her face inquisitively, searching for signs of regret. She looked dazed, and when she met his gaze, she offered a small, shy smile despite what they'd just done, and how responsive she had been.

He grimaced when his eyes slipped to her neck, and he brushed a thumb over the wounds, which were already healing.

"I bit you," he stated with a frown.

"It's okay," Dawn responded quietly, lifting a hand to run through his tousled hair. He leaned into her touch, and she continued with a soft giggle, "it's just a scratch."

"I love you," he surprised himself by saying, suddenly.

Dawn glowed, and her smiled widened. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he buried his face into her collarbone. He couldn't explain the uncanny sense of comfort he felt in her arms, and when she whispered, "I love you too," he rolled onto his side and pulled her into him. She pressed a kiss to his naked chest, and snuggled closer. His hand rested on her side, the other, he rested his head on. Fingers playing lazily with her hair, he watched as she grew slack, and cradled her closer as she drifted into a sated sleep.

"You've no idea, Nibblet," he whispered in her ear with a sudden sincerity that startled him.


	12. CH11: Buffy suspects

The night was cool, but Spike didn't feel anything as he stalked up to the familiar demon bar he'd frequented in his years in Sunny Dale. For more than obvious reasons, he wasn't particularly welcome—what demon wanted to be acquaintances with a vampire who was more or less the Slayer's lap dog? He frowned at the thought of being seen as someone's bitch—_especially_ Buffy's, and burst into the poor excuse for a bar with an anger that rolled off him in waves. He drew the attention of most customers within the vicinity, but none said a word as he made his way to the back.

"I'm lookin' for a bloke named James," Spike demanded as he came to stand against the counter that lined the far wall of the facility. Hooking his foot on a stool, he pulled it over before dropping his arse onto it with little grace. Fingernails, tainted with chipped black nail polish, tapped impatiently along the old wood as he stared down the bartender. The bartender swallowed, and finished cleaning a glass or two, setting them in the cabinet behind him before turning around with a slow, nervous smile.

"James?" he asked, questioningly. "'Lot of people with a name like that."

"Yeah well, not all of them are going to be _decapitated_." Spike seethed, "Now, I'm _sure_ you've seen 'em round. Fellow's kind of hard to miss, really. Not to mention he's new in town. I know you lot aren't very bright, but you never forget a face like his."

"He's a vampire?" the demon asked, and Spike nodded.

"Might've seen him," the man continued, "I might be able to give you some information," a small hesitation. "if you give me a reason to help you."

Anger flared inside of him, and Spike's features changed. With an animalistic snarl, he stood, kicking the stool he had been sitting on to the ground. His nails dug into the wood of the bar and splintered in his palms.

"I'll let you live, you sloth," he spat, hand slipping out with inhuman speed to close around the others collar. He lifted him up over the table, and he gagged as they came face to face. Yellow eyes gleaming, Spike growled, his lips drawing back to expose his fangs. "Hows that for a reason?"

"H-he asked about you, is all," the demon stuttered between gasps of air. "Wanted to—to know what you've been up to while you've been here."

"Like _you'd_ know?" Spike hissed, his grip tightening on the others shirt.

"I didn't," he stammered, "I mean I _don't_. Why w-would I keep tabs on you?"

"Exactly," Spike responded, "So what then?"

"He left, I swear on the Hell Mouth," he rasped, sausage fingers scrabbling at Spike's wrist. "I didn't have any information for him and he _left_."

"Better be telling the bloody truth, you stupid rat," Spike snapped, but he relinquished his grip on the other, who stumbled back into the cabinets and knocked several glasses to the ground. As they shattered, Spike dusted off his jacket before adjusting himself. Rolling his shoulders, he glanced around. Other customers were looking over their shoulders with unease, and some had even gotten to their feet to leave. Most of the demons who frequented this bar—aside from Spike, of course—were lower level demons, and compared to vampires, weren't very strong. Well they were just weak in general, and as a result didn't like conflict. Spike always managed to start a fight however, but then again, he was usually looking for one if he came here.

"If he comes here," Spike continued over his shoulder, "I want you to let me know. And don't say _anything,_" he added with a savage hiss, "or I'll come back and damn well finish what I started, are we clear?"

The bar tender nodded stiffly, shrinking back from him at the hiss.

"Yes," he stammered.

Dawn stared out her bedroom window, eyes fixed onto the darkened scenery below her. Her vision was sharp, and she had no difficulty discerning the moving shadows among the still ones. It was still the weirdest sensation, as if someone had turned the lights on, and only she could tell the difference.

And in regards to differences, Dawn was almost positive Buffy was aware that something had happened between her and Spike. When he'd dropped her off nearly right after the sun had set, explaining that he "had some business to take care of, and didn't wanna' leave the 'Bit all by her lonesome," her green eyes had slipped from his face to hers, and then to the arm wrapped securely around her shoulder. She had opted for silence, and simply stepped aside to allow room for them to enter.

He left shortly after, promising Buffy and Dawn a quick return, and since then she had been up here. She could tell when Buffy lingered outside her doorway, and was grateful that she hadn't asked to come in. Her mind was still confused, as was her body. Adjusting to a new life like this, as well as _finally_ getting the only thing she'd wanted for so long... it was all a little overwhelming. Not to mention the familiar ache in her gut, something akin to hunger, had begun to surface. For now it was more an annoyance than anything, but she knew if Spike took too long...it would get worse. Anxiety churned in her, and she grimaced. She was still new to this Vampire stuff. Would she be able to control herself?

A knock drew her attentions from her thoughts, and she turned sharply. Buffy had opened the door, and her blonde hair was pale under the moonlight. Dawn could see her squint in the darkness, and clear her throat.

"Dawn?" she asked, hesitantly. "can we talk?"

"I guess so," Dawn answered after a moment of silence. Buffy came into the room, and flipping the light switch on, did not miss the small wince as Dawn lowered her gaze from the suddenly harsh fluorescent glare.

"How're you holding up?" Buffy asked gently, sitting down on the bed. Dawn turned from her spot on near the windowsill, and kept her gaze trained on Buffy's white tennis shoes.

"I'm alright," Dawn answered, ignoring the break in her voice. Clearing her throat, she continued, "I mean, of course I'm fine." A smile. "Just tired, I guess? I'm not sure how to explain it."

Nodding, Buffy toyed with her fingers idly.

"Did something happen?" she asked cautiously, "I mean, between you and Spike? He seemed a little...intent, when he dropped you off."

"Well, he told me he was going to look for James," Dawn answered, suddenly uneasy. She didn't want to bring up Spike. She could still feel the heat of his skin, the feel of him _inside_ her, and the way his voice had growled her name. "He's really mad."

She met Buffy's gaze, and was surprised. Her eyes weren't assessing, but worried. The emotion behind them was a mix of confusion and perhaps a little anxiety. Dawn realized with sudden clarity that for some reason, Buffy _couldn't_ read her like a book anymore, and with that knowledge, she relaxed some.

"He can't go after him alone," Buffy said aloud, almost to herself. "I'm the one who's going to take that bastard down."

Dawn sighed and came over to the bed. Sitting down beside her, she drew her legs up to her chest.

"As long as he dies," she responded angrily. Bitterly.

Buffy looked to her, before back towards the wall adjacent them. Wrapping her arm around Dawn, she said nothing if she found her to be cold. They sat there in silence for maybe twenty minutes, simply taking comfort in one another. Dawn fought back tears. She was still here, but so much had been ripped from her. So much had been taken. It was a nice sentiment, almost comforting, how Buffy wanted to kill James. Spike, too. But the only one who'd really lost anything here was her.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk," Dawn said quietly, breaking the silence. Buffy began to protest as she peeled her hand from her shoulder, and standing, Dawn gave her a dry smile.

"Don't worry," she re-assured her, "_I'm _one of the things that go bump in the night now, remember?"

"I'll come with you," Buffy answered, getting to her feet.

"It's okay," Dawn responded quickly, stepping towards the door. "Please?" she added, almost desperately.

Buffy's jaw tightened, and she stiffened where she sat. With a deep breathe—something Dawn found herself envying—she brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and nodded reluctantly.

"Come back soon?" she asked, biting her lower lip.

"I will," Dawn promised, before hastily making her way out into the hallway, down the stairs, and out the door.

The warm air didn't bother her, and she simply pulled her hair back off her shoulders as she stepped outside. The tension inside of her seemed to drain away as she made her way further from the house, and the unease in her stomach lessened as well. Grey eyes danced over the shadows before her, which weren't really shadows any longer, and her pace quickened. She knew only when she reached the cemetery that the reason she'd felt so unsettled was because Spike wasn't with her.

She laughed bitterly, fighting back the urge to cry, before crossing her arms stiffly over her chest.

She didn't want Spike to go gallivanting off to kill the monster who'd taken her mortality from her. He was strong; even though Dawn had lacked the combat skills of the Slayer, she still had brute, supernatural strength on her side. She had still lost. She had still _died._ There was only one option left for Spike if he didn't come through, and the thought of Spike being nothing more than a pile of ash was enough to send her into a fit of sobs.

Dropping to her heels, she buried her face in her knees, fingernails digging into the fabric of her jeans.

How had everything became so messed up? It wasn't fair. It just _wasn't fair_. In the span of six months, she had lost herself. Her soul. Blue eyes swam before her vision; a kind, yet dry smile. High cheekbones, and that deep laugh that always gave her goosebumps. It wasn't like Spike had had a choice. And although the thought of living forever did scare her, Dawn wondered if she really _would_ have wanted to die if actually given the option.

"Don't you know it's dangerous for little girls to be wondering about on their own?"

If she still had a heart beat, it would have frozen in fear. Getting to her feet a little faster than she was used to, Dawn skittered back and locked gazes with James. His eyes were questioning, and the arch of his eyebrows hinted the slightest bit of amusement.

"Don't come near me," Dawn hissed, the venom in her voice surprising her. James lifted his eyebrows further, and he stepped closer. "Or you'll do what?" he asked, eyes slipping from head to toe. His lips quirked into a cool smile, and he raked his hand through his hair.

"I'll rip your fucking head off, is what I'll do."

Dawn lifted her eyes from James, beyond to the figure behind him. Spike's familiar voice cut through the tense silence, and relief flooded through her. Her knees wobbled and she grabbed onto the nearest tombstone for support. James turned as well, following her gaze. He didn't see surprised. Or threatened.

"Oh," he began with feigned surprise. "William."

"Get away from her," Spike seethed, stepping closer. James lifted his hands as if in surrender, and stepped to the side. Spike stalked towards him, and his hands shot out so fast that Dawn almost missed it. Fingers curling into the fabric of the other mans shirt, Spike's features changed and the roar he let out was monstrous.

"Now now," James began with a look of hurt. "Is this the way you treat a friend?"

"This is the way I treat the bastard who killed my little 'Bit," Spike hissed. Dawn's stomach flipped, and she slowly sank back down onto her bottom.

Red.

It was all that he could see. Red, and James' face. That cocky little smirk he wore, which Spike was more than endeavoured to rip off. The mans shirt felt good under his fingers, the fabric tearing ever so slightly. It didn't perturb him that James seemed more amused than frightened. That meant he was underestimating him. The anger he felt; the absolute _blood lust_.

James returned the favour and grabbed the collar of Spike's duster. He stepped forward, and Spike dug his heel into the ground to keep him from going anywhere. James frowned, his lips curling downwards, before his grip slackened, and he let out a deep chuckle.

"Come now," he began reasonably, "can't we talk about this?"

"Talk about _what_?" Spike snarled, lurching forward. He jerked James to the side and slammed him into a nearby tree. "Talk about _what_?" he continued. "How you took everything away from her?" he growled, "He you _left _her lying in a fucking bloody heap, for me to find?"

"It's not as if you haven't thought about it," James responded easily, his voice dropping in a low, seductive whisper. "The taste of her blood, her eyes as you drain the life from her. And it's not as if you haven't done the same, to some other family out there."

"I _haven't_," Spike screamed, ramming him back into the tree. Rage consumed him and he lifted the other vampire off his feet, pinning him to the tree. "I would _never_ think those things about Dawn!"

"Oh really?" James responded, his voice harsh, and he grabbed onto Spike's shoulders. "Not even once, have you considered the taste of her skin?"

An image of Dawn sprawled out on his bed, sighing heavily as he reigned kisses down along her small, delicious body, swam through his mind. Growling, Spike cocked his head, gritted his teeth.

"Not in the way _you_ would think,"

This drew a laugh from the other, and it disturbed Spike so much that he spun him around and threw him to the ground. Immediately following, he grasped his throat and straddled his hips. Fingers closing around his windpipe, he registered the concern in James eyes as he leaned in closer.

"You're not invincible, mate," Spike sneered. James winced, and he leaned closer, his voice deep, raspy as he spat in the other Vampires face. "You're a little stronger 'an me, but that's because I'm out of practice. I will tear your _bloody_ head off, for what you did to Dawn."

James hand shot out and closed around Spike's throat. As their roles were reversed and Spike's back was pressed into the cold dirt of the cemetery, he heard Dawn scream his name as James pressed his forehead against the blondes.

"What exactly did I do, _Spike_?" James asked. "I practically _gave_ her to you on a platter, and now you try to kill me?"

"You left her for dead," Spike responded, his hand knocking aside James' own. Fuelled by his anger, throwing the other off of him was an easy task. Spike shot an apprehensive glance to Dawn, who sat some distance from them, looking dazed. As their gazes met, she bit her lip, and his heart jerked almost painfully. She was in danger here. Spike could only prove to be a distraction, unless he killed James here and now. He wasn't sure what his intentions were, but he sure as _hell_ wasn't going to wait around to find out.

"Dawn go back to Buffy," Spike barked, as James launched forward. His back rammed painfully into a tombstone, and he heard distantly, her whimper, as she scrambled to her feet. "Get the hell out of here, and _don't_ come back."

"She isn't going _anywhere_," James remarked as he pulled Spike up to his feet. He was shaken vigorously, before James laughed, and swung him round, so that Dawn was out of his line of sight. James blue eyes glittered unnaturally in the light of the moon, and it was only seconds before his features changed, and he slid into his true form. Spike was quick to follow and glowing yellow eyes met one another, as Spike grappled for the others collar. He succeeded, and they held one another in place.

"I've a confession to make, really," James growled, jerking Spike backwards. His heels dug into the earth, and he snarled. "I didn't really leave Dawn there for you to find. I could care less whether the girl lived or died by then. I gave her a chance, actually, to come with me. You all undermine her, she would have made a great prodigy."

"You've been lonely since I decided you're a waste of my time, is that it?" Spike hissed, lurching forward. They stumbled backwards, and losing his balance, Spike grappled blindly for a branch that hung jaggedly from the tree he had previously smashed the other into. The wood gave a satisfying snap as he tore it from the tree's body, and he rammed the sharp edge of the wood up into James' gut.

He let out a surprised grunt, and Spike's growl grew into a savage hiss as he pinned the other to the ground.

"I've been lonely since you lost your _spine,_" James answered with a savage roar. They stumbled backwards, somehow managing to keep their footing. They struggled several long moments, Spike desperate to keep the sharp wood pressed against James' front. He seemed aware of this, and finally managed to throw him to the ground. Spike grunted as his head smacked a broken tombstone, and when sudden lights filled his vision he felt his fingers going slack around the stick. It clattered to the wet Earth with a soft _thud _and James smoothed back his hair before moving to stand over the other fallen vampire.

"It hurt," he continued, dryly, dropping to one knee. His fingers snaked around Spike's duster, and somewhere off in the near distance, he caught Dawn's frantic whimper. "when you left, but I'll admit I could accept your initial intentions. Kill the Slayer. An honourable thing, and since you have a few under your belt I reasoned that it was good for you to go."

He gave him a violent shake, and Spike snarled, grappling for his forearm. He was light headed though, and couldn't seem to focus.

"But when I caught wind from the Witches, after several long years of absence, just _what_ was going on down here—William, the vampire who left small towns dead in his wake, William, the vampire who drove railroad spikes through his victims—had _befriended_ the Slayer, and was helping her _kill_ his own kind?"

He tsk'ed, before shaking his head. Pulling him closer, their foreheads brushed once again and if James had breathed, Spike would have felt it on his lips.

"That was preposterous_,_" he whispered. "And so, dear _Spike_, I think its about time I found someone new to correspond with, don't you? I certainly don't want to be associated with the Slayer's lap dog."

Spike screamed then in fury, his head clearing momentarily, and he grabbed James by the shoulders. Pulling him down, he smashed their foreheads together and although stunned himself, took the opportunity to push the other from him and roll to his side, once more taking hold of the branch. He stumbled to his knees and drove blindly in James direction. A satisfying tear was heard before a pained groan, and Spike tried hard to see if he had hit home.

He hadn't, and his gut sank with disappointment as James collapsed face-first into the dirt. He had pierced his ribcage but was more than inch or so away from his heart. Swearing angrily, Spike stood and kicked the vampires side with as much force as he could muster.

"Spike," Dawn called meekly, and he lifted his gaze to lock eyes with the other. Her small face was white, whiter than it should have been given her last feeding session, and she trembled. Her hand was outstretched to him, and she leaned forward hesitantly on her knees. Torn between the urge to rip the branch from James and try again, and to comfort the traumatized girl, he swore.

He gave in however, and stepped over James to reach Dawn. She collapsed into his front, her fingers clinging to his duster and he drew her to him. Kissing her dark hair, he clung to the small girl, before whispering savagely into her hair, "You're alright Dawn, you're fine."

"Can we get out of here?" she begged, and Spike nodded. Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned, before gently leading Dawn away, towards the gates.

"We'll let you burn in the sun," Spike called over his shoulder. But he knew that by the time he returned, James would be gone.


	13. CH12: Friends close, Enemies closer

Spike had had a lot of explaining to do, once he'd brought his distraught lover home. Her large eyes, trembling lips and unsteady steps into the house had alerted Buffy right away that something was up. And Spike's instinctual reluctance to release her, only made her eyebrows raise all the more. The blonde's mouth was set in a firm line when Spike hugged Dawn before she meekly excused herself, and vanished upstairs. Spike swallowed, his stomach tight with worry, before turning to face the Slayer.

"So," she began awkwardly, crossing her arms, "what exactly, happened?"

"I was out lookin' for James," Spike began to explain, lifting his hands to emphasize a gesture, "and with no luck, I headed back to the cemetery for a quick peek before runnin' by here to check on the 'Bit."

Buffy nodded.

"An' then I find the bastard, alright," he growled with vehemence, but shooting an accusing look to the young woman across from him. "But he's got Dawn in a corner, and the poor thing is scared out of her bloody wits."

"You almost let him get her?" Buffy snapped, voice tight.

"What the hell are you bitching at _me_ for?" Spike hissed, defensively. "_You're_ the twit who let her just wander off on her lonesome."

"I'm not a twit," Buffy snarled, stepping forward. She gave Spike a rough shove, and he stumbled back into the furniture in the den. His eyes narrowed as she advanced, and he slid round the end table to put some distance between them. Her eyes were glistening under the dimly lit lights that hung above them, and she stabbed a finger angrily in his direction.

"None of this would have been an _issue_," she continued, her voice a sharp whisper, "If James hadn't been here. And _why_ do you think he's here, Spike?" she continued, sharply.

"I'm not sayin' it's for the best," Spike responded in a clipped manor, trying to reign in his anger although his blood was beginning to boil, "But if he _hadn't_ come along, you'd still be in that little mishap you'd had months back. And if it wasn't James, it would have been some _other_ Demon who'd come 'round and take her pretty little 'ead off. His ulterior motives, selfish as they may have been, is what saved her in the first place."

Buffy let out an angry growl and threw a fist at him, despite their distance. She tumbled over the coffee table, and instinctively he lifted his arms to catch her. She slipped and fell against him, and the momentum from her punch sent them both sprawling back on the couch. He grunted as her full weight collided with his, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself staring directly into her face.

Her eyes were hard, and her cheeks rosy. He could smell her perfume mixed with the sweet scent of her blood, and it struck him then that that they hadn't been this close in a long while. Growing light headed, he closed his eyes to try and stave off the sudden warmth inside of him. He could feel the delicate, luscious curve of her body as it molded to his, and the warmth along his front was painfully erotic.

Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed her back into a seated position, almost violently so, and stepped up and away from the couch.

"Don't," he began, shakily, throwing his hands up, "do that again."

"Do what?" Buffy asked haughtily, getting to her feet. "Try and punch you? Why? Because you know," she growled, slipping over the table and throwing a sharp upper-cut to his jaw, "I won't miss this—"

Spike's hand slid up and caught her elbow. He jerked it upwards. and rendering her arm useless, he slid his free hand around her waist and pulled her into his body. His back hit the fireplace, and they froze. Her breathe was heavy and he could hear the way her heart skipped a beat.

They locked gazes then, both unsure, hesitant. Spike didn't know then, who had leaned forward first, but somehow they were kissing. Slow at first, and then that raw, powerful lust as passion swept away uncertainty. Her arm relaxed and he let it go, hands gliding down her hips as she wrapped her forearms behind his neck and pulled him closer. He bit her lip, hard, and she growled, before returning the bite.

His knees nearly buckled, and they stumbled backwards to the couch.

His mind slowly bleeding red, Spike forgot the sense of dread he'd felt, the knot in his stomach, as they melted onto the cushions. Buffy let out a soft pant as he ripped open her blouse, fingers eager to seek warm skin. Her blood, the sound of her heartbeat, was too enticing. Running his lips up along her neck, she groaned and he pressed his fangs to her flesh.

"Spike," Buffy moaned against his ear, and he smiled. He missed the sound of his name on her lips like that.

"Spike?"

Time froze then. Everything did. Buffy froze beneath him; her heart stuttered, and Spike's blood ran cold. Slowly, his senses came to him, and he realized what he was doing. What was happening, and that Buffy had not said his name a second time. Lifting his head, slowly, blue eyes met large, gray ones. Dawn stood, hesitant, near the base of the stairs. Dressed in her pyjamas, hair back in a messy ponytail. Lips red, parted. Trembling. Her whole body seemed to be.

Pulling himself up off of Buffy with inhuman speed, she struggled to cover herself, pulling at the torn fabric of her blouse. Dawn's gaze fell to Buffy's shirt, and then back to Spike. Spike nearly died at the betrayal written along her face as she put the pieces together.

"Nibblet," he began, frantic, helplessly reaching out for her, "let me explain."

"Explain _what_?" Dawn asked, stepping back up the stairs. Tears were already rolling down her face, and she wiped at them uselessly. "It's okay," she nodded, sniffing, "I knew it all along anyway," she whimpered. She gave Buffy a watery smile, before whispering, "I _hate_ you," and turning on her feet, fled back to her room.

"_Shit_ ," Buffy hissed, getting to her feet. She struggled to fix her blouse as she headed upstairs. "I have to explain," she threw over her shoulder.

Spike's insides twisted. "No Buffy, I have to do it," he began, following her up the stairs. "You don't understand the situation."

"What situation, Spike?" Buffy hissed over her shoulder as they stumbled over one another to get to her room.

"You don't get it," Spike continued as Buffy reached for the doorknob.

"Dawn," Buffy began hastily, as she swung the door open, "Dawn listen, we need to—"

she trailed off, as they stepped into her room. The window had been open, the curtains blowing with the faint breeze from outside. Her dresser were ransacked—clothes everywhere, and she was nowhere to be found.

"Bloody _hell_," Spike snarled, before turning on his heel to head towards the front door.

Dawn was unfeeling as she clambered down the side of the house, down the walk and out onto the streets. Her backpack was weightless and she shouldered it effortlessly, blindly making her way away from the house, the cemetery—anywhere, really, far from them. Her hands trembled beneath the sleeves of the sweater she'd pulled on, although she didn't feel the cold, either, and she lifted her eyes to the darkened sky. She didn't know how long it was until day-break, and although her insides twisted, she briefly considered staying up to watch the sunrise.

She was stupid, pathetic. Nothing but a love-struck girl. Of course she would jump at the chance when the guy she'd been crushing on for ages showed some interest. Dawn was nothing but confused now, and she tried to sort her feelings as she marched hastily along the sidewalk, before ducking down a back lane. Slipping into the shadows, she avoided a few people lingering near the back of a house sharing a cigarette, and continued on her way. She wasn't really surprised, to be honest, recalling what she'd witnessed. It had been nice to play along, and fall for the words he had so easily uttered to her. Spike was in love with Buffy; he always would be. She was nothing more than second best. Her little sister. And why should that change?

But she had given _everything_ to him. Her heart, her soul, figuratively and literally, alongside with her humanity and the only part of her innocence she'd had left. She was angry at herself, and she felt a light flush rise to her face. Growling under her breathe, she sniffed in an attempt to hold back tears, and cut a sharp corner. Her eyes fell sight to an approaching bus, and chewing her lip, she stuck her hand in her pocket and fished around for loose change. The bus pulled up to the stop and she jogged the last few steps, before mounting the vehicle. The driver gave her a curious look as she dropped her fare into the slot, and hurried to the back of the bus. She didn't care where she was headed, as long as she didn't have to look at either of them again.

Sliding into an empty seat, she eased the hood of her sweater up to hide her face, and crossing her arms, turned to stare out the window. The scenery passed by in a blur, and she found the it was easy to turn off her emotions. Easy to pretend now, like it didn't matter. All she had to do was focus on the hunger roiling in her gut, the dryness in her throat and the ache that was slowly making it's way up her jaw and settling in her teeth. She stayed on the bus for the better part of an hour, before growing restless, and getting off. She recognized the area to be somewhere downtown; lights flashing and off in the distance, she could hear club music. People milled around doors outside, smoking and laughing, and instead of feeling threatened she felt...dangerous.

She ignored a few catcalls, keeping her pace brusque, before slowing to a stop in front of what seemed to be a rundown bar. She hesitated, lingering outside, before two patrons stumbled out into the streets. One appeared to be severely intoxicated, while the other tried to help him on his feet by pulling an arm around his waist and shoulder.

The drunk one noticed Dawn right away, and his eyes slid from head to toe, appreciatively. Instead of blanching, she stared him down and his lips curled up into a lopsided smile. He nudged his friend, who followed his gaze, before looking mildly surprised.

"'Allo," the drunken man sputtered, trying to right himself. A dark, evil feeling began to build inside of Dawn once she recognized his painfully familiar drawl. "Late night tonight, love?"

"You could say that," Dawn began quietly, eyes roaming over one than the other. "Too much to drink?" she added, her voice dripping with attitude. His eyes sparked, and his grin widened; he liked it, but that didn't surprise her in the slightest. From her experience, Englishmen liked the sarcastic, smart-assed girls.

"You could say that," he replied dryly, and pulled himself from his friend. Smoothing out his shirt, he tucked a strand of unruly dark hair behind his ear, and Dawn cocked her head. They were both good-looking, to an extent. Dark hair and blue eyes both, one more on the stout side, while the other, the drunken one, was slender. His cheekbones were high, and something about his smile made her angry.

"You look a lil' young," he continued, squinting in the dim light of the bar, "should you really be out here so late all on your lonesome?"

"I can handle myself," Dawn responded, straightening her posture.

"Why don't you let us walk you home then?" the other asked, uncomfortably. "Just to make sure you're right. Wouldn't want anything to happen."

"I don't live around here," Dawn responded dismissively, stepping closer. "Neither do you guys, right? You're English."

"Clever girl," the drunk one smiled, his lips curling up as if pleased by her observation. "Here on business, actually. Just winding down with some good Ol' Californian hospitality."

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" the sober one questioned, his face full of genuine concern. He cast his friend a mild look of annoyance, before scratching his head. "Can we at least call you a taxi, pay for your ride home? It'd be terrible if something happened..."

"Sure," Dawn chirped pleasantly, despite the ugly thoughts rearing in her mind. "There's a payphone around here somewhere," she lied, glancing around. "Walk with me so I don't get like, abducted or something?"

They seemed keen on the idea, and doing something that was entirely unlike herself, Dawn smiled, pulled her hood down and brushed her hair off her shoulders. She turned, and wasn't surprised to hear them follow. Her eyes slipped over an alley not far from the bar, and strewn in shadows. The street lamps above them flickered, and she uttered, "There's a shortcut down here."

Once in the darkened alleyway, she turned on them and smiled. The drunken one seemed oblivious, while the other seemed taken aback.

"I'm Dawn," she introduced, turning to smile at the two. The drunk returned her grin obliviously, and stretched out a hand. "William," he offered, "and this is my friend, Terrance."

Dawn's blood ran cold, but she shook each of their hands. Her smile was obviously fake though, and she could feel her cheeks burn.

"What's wrong, love?" William asked, noticing her sudden change in attitude.

"Nothing," she began shakily, clearing her throat.

"It really is late, we should be getting back to the flat now," Terrance began nervously. "Why don't we get to the tele and make that call for you now?"

"Why don't you come here?" Dawn asked, her voice lowering to a hiss. She stepped closer and jerked the drunken man away from his friend. He let out a surprised noise, and she too was surprised at how easy it was to knock him back against the wall.

"What the bloody hell?" William asked, his blue eyes widening. She could smell the fear in him, and her stomach grew tight. The unusual sensation came over her as she felt her features change, and she growled, "Shut up," before yanking his collar down and sinking her fangs into his throat. He let out a scream and she drank deeply, ignoring the fingers that grabbed at her from behind. She could feel his pulse slow, the beat of his heart erratic at first with adrenaline, and then fade She nearly reeled as the warm blood poured into her mouth, and she drank until she could drink no more. Blood spilled from her lips and down onto her front, fingers curling into fists as she dropped the corpse.

Whirling around, she hissed at the other who had tried to pull her off his friend. Terrance's eyes widened, but she was on him before he could even turn around. His scream was muffled as she tore at his throat, eyelids fluttering as the flesh gave way under her teeth. The blood spilled, sprayed messily from his jugular, coating her face and dousing her sweater. She didn't bother feeding from him though, and simply slumped forward over his twitching body and started to cry. Terrance let out a garbled, pained groan, his eyes fixed on her glowing yellow eyes, before his own grew dull, and his body limp.

The stench of blood was unbearably thick, and pulling at her hair, Dawn let out a scream. Feeling nauseated, she punched the dumpster that hid them from the view of pedestrians, and scrambled back against the garbage bags lingering on either while. Clasping her head in her hands, she struggled to stifle her sobs, and let out an agonized groan as the drunk's blue eyes and familiar smile swam in front of her. She felt dizzy now, too, and light headed. Struggling to remain seated, she slid onto her side, face pressed against the dirt. What had she just _done_?

Eyelids heavy, she struggled to keep them open. A shadow fell over her then, cast by the far-reaching street lamps near the mouth of the alley. She heard a chuckle, but found it hard to focus. Suddenly she was jerked to her feet, and staring blearily into the face of someone she couldn't quite make out. His eyes were yellow though, and his lips pulled back into a small smile. Head lolling, Dawn struggled to keep herself on her feet, but couldn't ignore the nausea building inside of her stomach. "I'm gonna throw up," she stammered, and was suddenly turned around. She leaned against the wall, and felt her stomach clench before all the blood she'd drank fill her throat and mouth. It spilled out into the alley messily, and she wiped at her mouth with the soiled sleeve of her sweater.

Instantly, she felt better, and as her head started to clear, she looked behind her unsteadily. She should have felt fear when presented with the clear image of the man before her, but instead, felt nothing but a quiet resignation. James stood not but a foot away from her, head cocked, and eyes watching her with little disguised amusement.

"Feel better?" he asked mildly, and she turned to face him completely.

"What happened?" she stammered, her mouth sour with bile and blood.

"Well," James began, exhaling, before glancing to the two corpses that took up space in the alleyway with them. "If you gouge yourself someone who's had _that much_ to drink...it's not unexpected that you'll feel the effects. Alcohol goes right to your blood stream, after all."

"Oh," Dawn murmured, suddenly feeling extremely stupid.

"But you're a new-born," James began, lifting his arms. Making a sweeping gesture, he smiled in almost kindness, before his hands dropped back to his sides. "Without a proper mentor, these kinds of incidents are expected. Those who are left alone, or are shielded from the reality of things, what they _are_...they have to learn the hard way."

"If you're going to kill me, get it over with," Dawn cut in sharply. Shoulders rigid, she lifted her bloodstained chin and stared him down. They were quiet a long moment, and they watched one another, as if assessing. Jame's looked confused a moment, before his lips pulled back into a smile.

"I see," he began, lacing his fingers together. Stepping closer, he manoeuvred around torn garbage bags and stepped closer to her. Her back bumped the brick wall behind her, and she was forced to tilt her head back so their gazes wouldn't break. His hand slipped up to touch the side of her face, and he chuckled deeply when she flinched.

"You've been hurt," he mused to himself, before brushing a strand of hair from her face. His smile now was cruel, and his eyes knowing as he tilted her head back even further. "He's let more than one person down, on more than one occasion," he continued, almost softly with a tilt of his head. "Are you really surprised?"

"You don't even know what happened," Dawn spat angrily, turning her head and brushing his hand away.

"I'm not a fool," James retorted, before reigning his temper in. "It isn't hard to tell that you're madly in love with that moron. It amazes me to see such a change in him, and surely," he added, forcing Dawn to look back at him, "you must know of his past?"

"Everyone has a past," Dawn began, her voice quiet, trembling. "he's proven more than once that he's worth forgiveness."

"Forgiveness of what, though?" James whispered, and he leaned down. Their foreheads touched, and Dawn was silent. Swallowing thickly, she struggled to keep her lower lip from trembling but the tear that slipped from her lids and cleared a path through the mud and blood caked on her face was not hard to mistake.

"If your heart could break, it would be broken," James began. "You're not a killer, and yet look at what you've done."

Guilt swarmed Dawn then, and she closed her eyes. A sniff racked her body, before her slender shoulders began to shake.

"It's hard to control your emotions when you're one of us," he continued, his voice low. "Especially as a new born. And to be betrayed in a way that you have been, at such a vulnerable state, well...I wouldn't have let that happen."

"Kill me," Dawn began, her voice frantic, pleading. "Just get it over with already," she continued.

"Why would I do that?" James questioned, lifting her chin again. "Everyone is allowed to make mistakes, and people learn from them, don't they, pet?"

She grimaced at the nickname, before nodding slowly.

"One last chance," he murmured softly, fingers gently grazing her cheek. "I'll teach you everything," he continued, earnestly, "and I will never ever let you feel like that again. I can make you feel amazing, I can make _you_ amazing. Forget about that ponce," he added in a low growl.

Something inside Dawn knew this was wrong. That she was playing with fire. This was the man who had destroyed her. Killed her, without remorse. But his hands were so gentle, and his voice so promising, comforting. All she could feel when picturing Spike's face now was the pain in her insides and the sudden urge to cry. His smile made her nauseous, and ducking her head, she blinked furiously to clear the image from her consciousness. Uncertainty still lingered, but she knew she wouldn't be able to face Spike or her sister after what had happened.

Taking a deep breathe, she felt her retired lungs expand, and lifting her gaze slowly, she

hesitated a moment. His eyes were back to their icy grey, and he stared at her with an intensity that was almost frightening.

"Okay," she agreed, and her skin grew cold as James' lips curled up into a slow, wicked smile.


	14. CH13: Betrayal, of a different kind

Four days had passed, and Dawn was nowhere to be found.

Buffy searched night and day, and the exhaustion was evident on her face as she slumped down on the couch, the eve of the fourth night. Spike watched from his place on the porch, taking a long, deep drag of his cigarette. Things between them had been more than tense since she'd disappeared, and he didn't like it. Aside from the general awkwardness after what had taken place between them, she seemed to think it was all _his_ fault, that she'd upped and run off like she had. And because Buffy seemed to think so, the rest of the Scooby Gang had adopted the same opinion. Not that the lot knew anything... boggarts, all of them.

Screaming had been done, objects had been thrown, and lips had been split. Well, Spike's, anyway.

The Slayer's fists had come down in a fury, fuelled by anger and desperation the first night Dawn had fled, and he was still sore from it. Tension betwixt himself and Buffy aside, his own nerves were a wreck. He hadn't been keeping track of his feeding habits, and the gnawing hunger inside him only caused him to worry even more. Where was she? Guilt poured over him for perhaps the millionth time that night, and as if he were drowning, took a breath to steady himself.

"Where are you, Nibblet?" he asked to no one in particular.

The door behind him sounded, and turning to glance over his shoulder, he raised his eyebrows as the little red headed witch eased out onto the porch with him. Her expression was apprehensive, and she gave a small, quick smile before stepping closer.

"Can I help you?" he asked dryly, using the last of his cigarette as an excuse to say nothing more. Willow fiddled with her fingers, before clearing her throat. "Well, Buffy wanted me to tell you that Angel is in the city."

Spike blinked, and after a moment of surprise, he could feel an ugly anger creeping up inside him. Not that he had any right to really _care_ if the ponce decided to drop by...he had made it his mission to have nothing to do with Buffy the night they had stood beside one another in Dawn's room, watching the curtains flutter restlessly against the breeze that slipped in through the open window. Willow registered his mounting anger, and she backed up.

"Actually," she continued, hesitantly, "he's on his way here, right now."

"What in the bloody hell _for_?" Spike spat, turning to face Willow entirely. "If _you_ can't even do anything to improve the situation, how the hell is he going to make anything better? Or does Buffy just need something to shag?"

Willow winced at his tone, before glancing towards the window. Buffy lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"She didn't tell me why he is coming here, but I'm sure her reasons are good enough."

"_Angel_ ," Spike growled bitterly, "is nothing but a walking time bomb. You give the bastard a second of happiness, you'll be worse off than when you started."

"I know," Willow responded, and opening her mouth to speak again, she closed it, jaw tense. Spike knew immediately why she fell silent, and turning round, caught sight of Angel's tall form making its way up the sidewalk.

"Fancy that," Spike began arrogantly, "we were _just_ talking about you."

"Where is she?" Angel asked, his dark eyes passing over Spike with little interest, before settling on Willow. Willow pointed to inside, "Come in, she's in the living room."

Angel shouldered past Spike, and as he took a step back, the blond let out an incredulous noise. When the door slammed behind him, Spike swore.

"Fine then," he yelled, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture of offence. "I know when I'm not wanted!"

Spinning round on his heel, he stalked off the porch and down the sidewalk, his duster flapping angrily behind him. Boots crunching under grass, he muttered to himself, headed back to the cemetery and his crypt. He had spent far too long at the Summer's abode, and all this worrying and searching had made him famished. He'd ignored his hunger, more concerned about finding the Bit, but if Buffy didn't want him 'round then he could damn well take a hint.

The door to his crypt opened easily enough, and he stalked down the steps and towards the small fridge where he kept his blood. The contents inside were dismal, but enough to quiet the animal inside of him with promises of being fed. Warming up the blood, he tore into it with his fangs and took a long drink.

Stumbling back to his couch, he dropped down onto it heavily and sat in silence for a moment. He was confused. Angry at himself. He still didn't understand the jealousy he felt when he thought of _Angel_ being in the house with Buffy, and not him. But when his thoughts turned to Dawn, all he felt was despair and an anxiousness that derived from feelings that were more than just platonic.

What was _wrong_ with him? Spike wasn't a fool; he knew how these sort of things worked. Back when he was with Dru, she would get wickedly jealous if he so much as glanced at another woman. Human or no, she had no qualms with tearing out their throats or ripping out their eyes.

"_Naughty, you are," she would reprimand him, coated in the blood of her victim, "to be looking at other girls in such a way. You should only look at me like that, or do I need to tear out your eyes, too?"_

He smiled in vague remembrance, before lifting his eyes to the ceiling. It was one or the other, although he knew he'd gone and buggard up his chances with Dawn. She had given him everything. Her blatant love, trust, innocence, hell, even her _humanity_. And what had he done? The betrayal written along her face that night would haunt him forever. Buffy was nothing but a mild fantasy for him now. It had been like that for a long time. He knew what they'd had before wasn't love, although he'd deluded himself into believing it was so. They were lonely, hurt, and understood one another. It just bit him in the ass ten fold to see how easily she replaced him with _Angel._

But if he didn't love her, why did he keeping falling back on her? Especially when such an amazing young woman was waiting hopefully, in the shadows for him to return such an easy thing to give? Where it concerned Dawn, anyway. It would only stand to matter that Spike indeed, truly was fucked.

"Bloody hell," he groaned, sated from drinking much too fast, and exhausted from little to no rest. Eyelids heavy as he stared at the granite above him, he let out an angry growl, before throwing himself forward. Elbows on his knees, and head in his hands, he fought back the sudden urge to sob. Fingers clasped tightly into fists, he lifted his eyes in silence, and as his eyes fixed upon the shelf beside his fridge. A dry, humourless smile lifted the corners of his lips. Nothing like a good ol' bottle of JD to rectify this situation.

"I came as fast as I could," Angel began as he stepped inside the house. Buffy was up on her feet within seconds, and she ignored the dark figure out on the porch. As Spike stalked off the lawn, she rushed over to hug Angel, who's arms wrapped around her in a gentle embrace.

"I don't know what to do," Buffy began, before breaking down entirely. Willow fluttered around them helplessly, and she knew Giles sat in the kitchen, a cup of tea to satisfy him while he waited for Angel's arrival. "I'm so glad you came." Withdrawing, she tilted her head back, green eyes searching Angel's dark, brooding ones. "Did you bring it?"

Angel nodded, before his lips pulled back into a dull smile. "Of course."

Wiping tears furtively from her face, Buffy held out her hand, and Angel removed the _Gem of Amara from his finger. Dropping it into her awaiting palm, she lifted it for inspection._

_"__I was hoping she could wear it," Buffy began unsteadily, and Angel slid an arm around her shoulders. "So she could still go to school, be somewhat...__normal. Protected. So I wouldn't worry so much. Especially with...James," she continued angrily. "And now she's God knows where, or if she's even—" _

_She cut herself short, and a sadness welled up inside of her with the realization that she could no longer use the term 'alive' to properly define Dawn. "I can't do anything," she sputtered angrily, pressing her face into her palms._

_"__We'll find her," Angel assured gently, easing her into the kitchen. He didn't say anything when Giles lifted his gaze, and helped her sit down along the island that took up the centre of the room. "She's fine, Buffy," he continued, "I promise."_

_"__How do you __know?" Buffy asked through her fingers, and Willow followed them into the room. She was quick to fix Buffy a cup of tea. She took it in her hands, eyes red, and lower lip trembling. She hated feeling like this. Willow chewed on her own lip, before glancing back and forth between Buffy and Angel._

_"__Well, she's got to be okay, Buffy," she tried, reassuringly. "I mean...she's new to uh, vampirism, but she's been surrounded by this kind of stuff for years. I'm sure she'd know in the very least how to handle herself."_

_"__So my little sister is out there now," Buffer responded angrily, "hiding from the sun, and killing innocent people to survive? I don't think she has enough control over herself to have it any other way." A heavy pause. "Not right now, anyway."_

_She didn't want to bring up the other problem that was bothering her. Spike. Spike and herself. Spike and Dawn. The look on Dawn's face that night had shown more than simple shock at witnessing them together. Her eyes had looked hurt, betrayed, and the way she broke down almost immediately, and sobbed I hate you before dashing back upstairs, led her to believe there was something else going on. Buffy didn't particularly want to delve into that topic, but she knew that Spike's reluctance to tell her anything meant that her assumption was right. So something was going on between them, but what exactly?_

_"__Spike was hanging around the porch when I came," Angel began. Buffy cut him off with a bitter, "I know," followed by a heavy sigh. Leaning forward on the table, she rested her head along her forearm. Her cheeks burned as she forced the words out of her mouth._

_"__I think there's something going on between Spike and Dawn."_

_"__What do you mean?" Giles asked, sounding shocked. Willow echoed his incredulity with a surprised, "__What?" and Angel remained silent, although his expression shifted slightly. Buffy nodded before lifting her eyes to her disbelieving Watcher's. _

_"__I'm not saying I know __what exactly," she began, "but something is definitely up."_

_"__What ever gave you that idea?" Giles questioned, taking a nervous sip from his cup of tea. "I mean, to think that anything __would transpire between them...it's a little ridiculous, wouldn't you agree?"_

_"__Why?" Buffy asked, the anger evident in her voice. "I wouldn't really expect anything less from him."_

_"__But Dawn?" Willow interjected. "I mean...maybe Spike, but Dawn?"_

_"__It's probably got something to do with James," Buffy sighed, rubbing her temples._

_"__James?" Angel questioned. He hesitated, before continuing, "You mean __the James?"_

_"__One and only," Buffy responded dryly. Leaning back in her chair, she glanced at the clock. Ten after eleven. Another long night of searching lay ahead, and her tired muscles groaned at the thought._

_Getting to her feet, she snatched a jacket from the closet and shrugged into it. _

_"__You told me about the vampire who was here, coming after Dawn," Angel followed Buffy as she grabbed some things, ignoring the silence in the kitchen, "but you never told me his name. You know that James used to be Spike's partner, way back when, right?"_

_Buffy yanked open the door and cast him a dark look. In all honesty she was relieved for his presence here, but she couldn't help let the frustration slip through a crack in her controlled facade. _

_"__Yes, I'm well aware," she began, her tone slightly catty. "After he managed to get away from __you, James is the vampire he hooked up with. And now he's back here, making our lives miserable for something Spike did."_

_Angel grimaced and following Buffy out the door, cleared his throat._

_"__To be fair," he began falling into step beside her, "the only reason he came after him here was because he heard Spike had made a turn for the...better."_

_"__What does that mean?" Buffy huffed, her eyes crawling over every shadow that lingered before her. Dawn couldn't hide from her forever. _

_"__It means that you're blaming Spike for trying to turn around his ways. James is torturing him now for switching sides. And you're the reason he switched sides, in the first place."_

_Whirling around, Buffy fought the urge to punch or shove Angel away from her. Eyelids burning, she tilted her chin up and mustered the best glare she could._

_"__So it's __my fault then?"_

_"__It's nobodies fault, Buffy," Angel sighed, rubbing his temples. He gave a small, helpless shrug, before his dark eyes met hers. They stared at one another in tense silence, before he glanced away._

_"__James is just as sick and twisted as...I used to be," he began quietly. "He's more manipulative, as opposed to brute strength. But he's smart and he's dangerous, and he's here on his own accord. I think we need to stop focusing on someone to put the blame on, and focus on finding your sister in one piece."_

_Buffy looked away guiltily before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Shew knew that better than anyone, buy deep down she was afraid to admit to herself that she really was the one to blame. For everything. If she wasn't the Slayer, if she hadn't forced Dawn to live around her life-style, if she could just keep her loved ones out of danger..._

_"__You're right," she nodded firmly, before smoothing her hands over her thighs. "No more fighting. I'm sorry."_

_Angel's smile was dull, but it reached his eyes, and she returned it with a weak one of her own. They started down the sidewalk once again, falling into step with one another at a brisk pace._

_*_

_The hotel James was staying in was expensive. Not that he couldn't afford it, he had been saving for years and years. Nothing in particular, had he wanted to buy. But the copious amounts of cash that he had now came in handy. He stood in the living room of the suite, eyes fixed out onto the city below the building. It stretched out before him in a mass of flashing lights, low-rise buildings and moving cars. Sunny Dale wasn't much to an experienced traveller, but he admitted it was nice to get away from the norm once in a while. James had definitely achieved that this time._

_The door to the bathroom sounded, and looking over his shoulder, his pale eyes fell onto Dawn's supple frame as she inched out of the steamy quarters. Her pale skin was clean from any trace of blood, and she was wrapped up—or should he say, drowning—in one of the complimentary plush robes that the hotel offered. Her hair was soaked and hung down along her face, rivulets of water slipped from her forehead down her rosy cheeks and dripped from her chin. He was tempted to lick it off._

_Strange, for the first time he had met the girl he had simply wanted to kill her. Take away from William what he loved most in the world. But as he watched over the months, and as he toyed with her life, he found himself unusually drawn to the girl. She was unique, something different about her. The demon inside him lusted after a part of her, and as of now he was unsure what part of her it was. Her humanity had been long since taken—too long for him, anyway—so it was not that he was after. And despite the many things that transpired over the course the course of the last several months, despite her being ripped from the world she was used to and thrown into another that was completely monstrous, she managed to keep her innocence._

_"__Feel better?" he asked, watching as she gingerly came closer. Her body was tense, and he could sense easily her discomfort as the distance between them grew smaller and smaller. Eventually, she came to stand just beside him, and the lights reflecting back from the city below caught in her eyes, setting them on fire. She was silent a long moment, before tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. "No," she began, her tone quiet. Lips pulling up into nothing but a dry, humourless smile she added, "but I'll live."_

_Eyebrow raising in interest at the statement, James opted for silence and returned to observing the city._

_There was so much to show her, and he would enjoy every last delicious second of it._

_-_

_She could sense his presence beside her, and she tried not to fidget. Dawn was well aware of the danger she had put herself in, but at the same time, she didn't feel threatened at the moment. James posture was relaxed, and he seemed overall uninterested in her as he stared out the window. She took this moment to take in his features, drinking in his appearance. She was surprised at how attractive he was. From this close up, she could see the gentle sweep of his cheek bones, the angular cut to his overall features. Every time he had stared her down before, she had been too afraid to notice anything._

_His hair was a mess of dark, contrast to his alabaster skin. His eyes, icey blue and unlike Spike's –his were a deep, warm blue, while James' seemed cold and electrifying—were narrowed, and his jaw set. He stood with an effortless grace that implied the impression he could move quickly. From experience, Dawn knew it was true._

_"__So what now?" she asked after a long moment of silence had stretched into two, and then three._

_"__You'll learn soon enough," James responded, voice low, almost bored. He turned then and locked gazes with her. Stepping closer, his hand slid up to cup her jaw. "You don't understand," he began gently, "all of the things I'm going to do to you."_

_Dawn swallowed, opening her mouth to protest. He lifted a hand and placed his finger to her lips, silencing any further words. Lips pulling back into a half-smile, his eyes bore into hers as his voice dropped to nothing but a whisper. "and you're going to love every one of them."_


	15. CH14: Sunset

Spike sat up, back rigid and in a cold sweat.

Breathing heavy, unnecessary breathes, he glanced over to the door of his crypt. A dim light pooled from under the crevice, and he swung his legs round the side of the couch to sit up right. What in the hell was _that_? He had definitely had too much to drink; his head was pounding, and the more or less empty bottle of Jack Daniels lay quietly on the floor several feet away. If he had a pulse, it would be racing, and despite the monstrous headache beating on his temples, he rose to his feet.

He rarely had premonitions; it wasn't uncommon, though, for vampires to have them. Albeit the fact that Dru was stark raving mad, she had them all the time. He'd experienced few in all his years of being a Demon, but he could recognize one when he had it. Fingers curling into fists, he swore before turning and kicking with all his might, the side of the couch. The worn fabric tore and he cursed louder as his bare foot got caught in the box spring.

"Bloody hell!" he screamed, wrenching it free. Tufts of fabric followed the motion, and it took him a good long moment to recover his composure. Jaw tense, he raked his hands through tousled hair before beginning a fast, anxious pace. What did this mean, exactly? Dawn wasn't in any harm, he knew that much, but _why_ in God's name had she even _entertained_ the idea of going with James, let alone actually doing it? Did she hate him that much? Was this some sort of way to get back at him? What was with women and being so bloody _cruel_? Then again, Dawn was far from an idiot; he wasn't aware of all the facts that led up to what he'd witnessed, and for all he knew James could have provided some sort of ultimatum. 'Come with me, or die'.

With another glance towards the crypt's entry way, he grimaced at the light that was still present. Yanking on his shoes, his eyes swept the premises for the trusted heavy wool blanket he threw over himself when making trips out during the day. From what he could tell, it was twilight and the damage wouldn't be too bad—but what if Buffy wouldn't let him in the house? He hesitated, before falling sight to what he was looking for. Grabbing the blanket, he threw it on over his duster, and marched towards the door. She would damn well listen to him, and if not for his sake, then for Dawn's.

Buffy was none too happy to open the door to a steaming pile of blankets. Spike rushed inside, without a formal invitation, before slamming the door. Shaking off the smoke that rolled off him in waves, he took a moment to ignore the slow burn making its way along his skin. He bit his tongue, hard, when Angel came up from the basement, a look of genuine concern on his features.

"What's he doing here?" Angel asked, looking to Buffy.

"What's he doing here?" Spike repeated in a high, annoying drawl. "_Please_, d'you think I'd come here during the day for no reason?"

"You have before," Buffy responded crossing her arms. Eyebrows lifted, she had an unamused, expectant expression written along her features. Angel was quick to assume the same.

"Right then," Spike began, tugging at his duster. Lifting his chin up, almost defiantly, he cocked his head and glanced away. "I guess I _won't_ tell you the whereabouts of our little Dawny."

"What?" Buffy asked, shock claiming dominance over her annoyance. Angel echoed the same question, stepping forward.

"I had a premonition, of sorts," Spike began, and although Buffy suddenly looked uninterested, Angel's eyes narrowed.

"What kind?"

"Well I had a dream, you see," he began, before Buffy lifted her hands.

"Please, Spike, not now. I can _smell_ the booze coming from you. It's disgusting. Stop wasting our time, we have better things to do."

"I'm _not_ wasting your time, Buffy," Spike snapped, irritation lacing its way in his tone. "If you'd shut your damn hole and listen, you'd know that."

"It's worth listening to," Angel responded, expression ginger when Buffy shot him a glare.

"She's downtown, and safe." Spike began, hesitantly. "For now. She's with James, though I haven't the slightest idea _why_."

"_Where_ is she?" Buffy pressed, looking anxious. She stepped forward and bit her lip.

"Well I don't know the hotel by name _exactly_, but I've been there a few times myself. I could show you, but we'd need to wait until sundown."

"Sundown?" Buffy snapped, "That's too long! If we could make it there while the sun is still up,we'd at least have a chance of getting her back."

"The ring," Angel interrupted. Buffy turned and stared at him. "Give him the ring. Go with him. If they're where he says they are, then you can get her and kill James. He won't be expecting you during the day, or at all."

"This is such a long shot!" Buffy cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "What reason do I have to trust him?"

"Have I given you a reason not to, Buffy?" Spike asked, helplessly. "I mean, where it concerns Dawn. I'm _not_ making this up. I want her back just as much as you do."

Buffy was silent, before her eyes narrowed. Stepping forward, she leaned so close that Spike felt uncomfortable. Back bumping into the door, she lifted her eyebrows and whispered venomously, "Why?"

The cat was out of the bag; Spike knew for certain and if Buffy had been suspicious before, she damned well knew what was going on now.

"I...I love her, Buffy," Spike finally said, the tension draining from his body. An unexplainable weight lifted from him, and he realized it was the first time he'd _really_ admitted it to himself.

"You _what_?" Buffy shrieked. Her hands slid up and curled into his duster so fast he didn't have time to register. The back of his head hit the door, and he blinked. Buffy's green eyes were furious, and her jaw tense. He tried to loosen her grip on his collar but she didn't relent and pressed him so hard into the wood that it cracked.

"I said I love her, alright?" he spat finally, "I'm tired of all this pussyfooting around the subject. I love

Dawn, and want her back good and safe. Now let me go; we're running out of time and you're acting like a child."

Angel was silent, and after a moment, Buffy let go of him and stepped back.

"When this is over," she began quietly, pulling Amara's ring from her pocket, "I want you to know that I don't want you _near_ her."

Spike snatched the ring from her open palm; slipped it on his finger, and briefly admired it. Way back in the day, he had been searching for this exact pendant. He had drilled holes in sewers and gone through hell with Buffy just to have a taste. Hell, he'd even made the mistake of dating one of her old classmates at the time, too. He would never admit to anyone, but he hadn't wanted it for the god-like immortality as he'd boasted; he had simply wanted to feel the sun on his face. Oh, and kill the Slayer. But that had little interest to him now; his sole concern was getting Dawn back safely.

"I think given the circumstances, that's for her to decide," he quipped dryly, before taking a deep breath and yanking open the door. Angel stepped back as a dim light pooled into the foyer, and it took him a moment. Ignoring the sudden urge to flinch, he stood alone in the doorway. The sun wouldn't be down for another few hours, although the time was drawing near. Clearing his throat, he looked over his shoulder at Angel before smirking, turning and marching out onto the porch.

Buffy followed shortly after, stomping after him at an angry speed he was often wary of. The ring gave him a small confidence boost though, for as long as he could keep it on his person, she couldn't do so much as scratch him. That would come in handy when it came time to kill James as well, although he kept that little tidbit to himself.

"If you've touched her, Spike, I swear..." Buffy began.

"You'll what?" Spike snapped.

"Oh you did _not_!" Buffy gaped, her step faltering.

Spike scoffed, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. To be frank, he wasn't comfortable in the slightest discussing this with Buffy, the Slayer of all people, but he decided ruefully that if it wasn't sooner it would be later. And on uglier terms.

"It's not like I forced myself on the Bit," he began, ducking away from an angry punch. "and besides, she's old enough, an' she's been through hell, she needed somebody and I was there."

"You _used_ her to get laid?" Buffy shrieked, and several pedestrians glanced over curiously. Spike grabbed the next fist she swung, and using the momentum to duck underneath, he slipped beside her and looped his arm through hers.

"Now now, Buffy, wouldn't want to cause a scene in broad daylight, would we?" he asked in false cheerfulness. "It's not the time to worry about _me_ right now, why don't we focus on Dawn before you try and rip my head off."

"Oh, I won't have to _try_," Buffy seethed, ripping her arm free of Spike's. She stalked forward, and he simply followed several paces behind, a humourless grin on his lips.

They caught the nearest bus that led them downtown, and although they sat together, Spike could feel the fury rolling off of the blonde in waves. People gave them both interested glances, and Spike simply smiled or waved obnoxiously at those who chose to stare.

"_Where_?" she demanded impatiently, when they finally reached their destination. Dismounting the bus, Spike closed his eyes and tried to recall the interior of the room. Nicely decorated, an expensive suite no doubt; he remembered James and his high-standards.

"This way," he pointed, before heading in the direction of his finger. Buffy followed behind, glancing around anxiously. As they walked, the streetlights began to flicker and come to life. It was getting darker, and Spike glanced towards the sun. It would still be enough to keep him inside, once they got there. And after about fifteen minutes, they came to stand at one of the more luxurious, four-star hotels Sunny Dale boasted. He tried to hide his satisfaction, but Spike ended up coming off as smug. "This is it," he motioned, before pulling the door open. Buffy didn't wait and instead, stalked inside without a word. Raising his eyebrows, Spike shrugged before following. "Ladies first, I suppose," he mumbled before stepping into the lobby after her.

This was definitely the place.

High ceilings; polished floors, and obnoxious looking receptionists. Spike scoffed, but made his way up to the counter. Smoothing back his hair, he gave one of the ladies a wicked smile before leaning onto the counter.

"A friend of mine," he began, drumming his fingers along the counter, "he booked a hotel last night or so, I'm looking for him. I was wonderin' if you could be a doll and help me out?"

The woman at her computer was neatly groomed; dressed in the standard uniform for the hotel, hair pinned back and makeup neatly applied. Her eyes were a bright blue, and her upper lip twitched as he spoke. Spike cocked his head, and she gave him a fake smile, before picking up the phone. After exchanging a few words, she set the phone down and folded her hands delicately on to her lap.

"I'm sorry, but we have no notice of any of our guests at the moment currently expecting..." she gave him a once-over before finishing, "you. I'm sorry, but if there is anything else I can help you with, please let me know." Another fake smile.

Spike was about to protest when Buffy pushed him aside. Leaning over the counter, she locked gazes with the receptionist who's attitude immediately changed.

"There is a man in this hotel room who _kidnapped_ my sister a week ago. And I want her back. If you don't _do_ something about this and get me a key I will break down every _goddamn_ door in this hotel, and then your manager will have to explain to you why he's taking the cost to repair this place out of your pay cheque."

"W-well," the receptionist stuttered, looking flustered, "I—I'm not _supposed _to do that sort of thing or I can lose my job—"

"My sister could lose her _life_, I think that's a bit more important. I want a printout sheet of names of people who booked hotel rooms for last night and the night before. And if you have spare keys to the rooms, give them to me."

"I doubt he'd use his real name, Buffy," Spike began but she lifted a finger to silence him.

"I don't care what he did," Buffy snapped. "We're running out of time, and if I can't find her tonight I don't know if I'll get another chance."

Dawn sat near the window. The drapes were closed, and James was nowhere to be seen. He left her alone, although he told her he would. He had also disconnected the phone—he didn't trust her, and Dawn was beginning to think that he was of the right mind, for she was having second thoughts. Her insides churned in unease, and she bit her lip. Cooped up all day, although she admitted it was better than burning, her hunger slowly getting the best of her. It was odd, but she could sense that the sun was slowly setting, and as it did, she grew more restless.

He had bought her several changes of clothes the night before, and she wore one now. A long sleeved but low-cut fitted dark shirt, which hugged her slender frame, and a pair of denim cut offs that exposed her long, pale legs. She would have opted for sweats instead, but James had mentioned something about 'sex appeal' being a Vampire's best weapon. Dawn had flushed, and thinking about it now even her cheeks grew rosy. Sex appeal? Dawn? Impossible.

She had no idea where he had gone, but he had left just near sunrise. She was lonely, although she would never admit to wanting James around for company, and although she would never have admitted it to anyone but herself, she missed Spike. She hated herself for it of course; still when she thought of him, all she could see was the way he looked...on top of her sister. Anger flooded her veins then, and she just felt sad.

"What have I done?" she whispered aloud. Peeking behind the drapes, she winced as one of the last rays of light filtered through and burned the tips of her fingers. Getting to her feet, she paced alongside the bed before marching to the door. She didn't want to be here, but she had nowhere to go. Even if she ran back to her sister, how could she face Buffy, the Slayer, knowing what she'd done? The faces of the men she'd killed still swam in her memory, and guilt made her nauseous.

Sitting down on the bed nearest the door, she cupped her head in her hands and began to cry. Her life was a mess, and she couldn't blame anyone but herself. Spike had saved her, brought her in to a new world, Buffy had simply wanted the best—and aside from the fiasco with Spike and Buffy back at the house, they had been looking out for her best interests. Nobody had forced her to leave the house and stalk angrily into Down Town Sunny Dale. She had lashed out and killed some poor businessmen—and all because they reminded her of _him_. Immaturity at its best, and Dawn had, up until that point, prized herself on being more so than expected of her age.

And now here she was, trapped and unable to do anything but wait for the very man who had ripped her normal life from her. Willingly, she had walked into his arms, and now she didn't know whether she had been tricked and was waiting here to die, or if James really had something in mind for her...and whether or not she planned to go along with it anymore, she didn't know. But then again, she probably didn't have a choice now, either.

Distant voices could be heard in the hallway, and she brushed it aside, so lost in her thoughts.

Until a familiar annoyed drawl caught her attention.

"Bloody hell, we've been on four floors already. It must be on _this_ one. How many damned people can book a room in one night?"

"Do you want to get her back or _not_?" another voice, a woman, seethed. "You're the one who said she was here so shut up and pick a door."

"She _is_ here," the man growled, and Dawn's skin broke out in goosebumps. Seconds later, the doorknob jiggled and she jumped. Frozen for a moment, she bit her lip as the door was jostled again. Getting to her feet, she reached out but hesitated. Squeezing her eyes shut, she unlatched the locks and taking a steadying breath out of habit, yanked open the door.

When she opened her eyes, Spike's were locked on hers.

And then they slipped downwards, and his eyebrows lifted appreciatively.

Flushing, Dawn stepped back, and Spike stepped in to the room.

"Where the _hell_," he began helplessly, before lifting his gaze back to hers. "_Why_," he continued, struggling to complete a sentence. Dawn's lower lip trembled, and despite her brain willing her to do anything _but_ fall in to his arms, it's exactly what she did. They closed around her and she couldn't control the sob that fell past her lips. His scent engulfed her; leather and cigarettes, and his hands were warm on his back.

"I'm sorry," she cried, her voice muffled by his coat.

"Dawn it's okay," Spike began in a quiet voice, "Dawn listen to me. _I'm_ sorry. I was a bloody fool to have done that...it didn't _mean_ anything, please stop crying."

The tears wouldn't stop, and he pulled her away; so that he could assess the damage, no doubt. She knew she looked like a mess; whatever makeup she'd bothered to apply no doubt smudged along her cheeks. His fingers dug into her shoulders and he gave her a gentle but firm shake. "Do you hear me, Nibblet?"

Dawn nodded, but as Spike was about to say more, Buffy slid into the room behind him.

"Dawn!" she hissed, her voice a strange mixture of panic, relief and anger. "_What_ are you doing here?" she demanded. Dawn should have been angry but she felt cornered and embarrassed.

"Forget it," she said quickly with a lift of her hand. "We need to get you out of here before James gets back. Spike, give her the ring."

Dawn looked between the two, confused as Spike slipped a golden ring from his finger and forced it onto one of hers. She flushed when she realized it was the ring finger of her left hand. It probably meant nothing; no, it _didn't_ mean anything, and Buffy's own fingers curled tightly around her wrist and yanked her from the room.

"I can't," she began in protest. "I mean, the sun, it'll—"

"You're wearing the ring, I'll explain later, but you'll be _fine_. We need to _go, _Dawn.."

"W-what about Spike?" she asked while Buffy pulled her into the hall. Spike stepped out of the room as well, a mixture of anxiety and something akin to determination in his eyes. Spike stopped when Dawn mentioned him, and Buffy threw a look over her shoulder. He smirked, cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. "Don't worry, Nibblet," he called as Buffy continued to tug her towards the elevator.

"The big bad just has some business to take care of, is all."

"Come _on_, Dawn, let's _move_."

Dawn reached towards Spike as the elevator doors closed.

It was well after dark, and James made his way towards the hotel room.

He had left Dawn alone for the day, confident that she would be fine while he was out. After all, where else did she have to go? She had seemed desperate and broken when he'd picked her up, and agreed easily. He wasn't a fool and knew that with a day to herself she would definitely begin to have doubts.

He had contacted someone from England while he was out and had spent most of the day making arrangements for their return to the country. It was time to take her away from this place, and introduce her to a world he knew she would come to love, like he had.

He meandered at a slow pace up towards the room, but when he stood at the door, a pecuilar feeling washed over him. Opening the door, he stepped into the dimly lit room and as it slid shut behind him, he cocked his head. Nothing. Dawn was not in the room; nor in the suite, he knew that much. And after another long moment of silence, Spike stepped out of the shadows, arms crossed and a wickedly evil smile written across his face. So malicious that it made him nostalgic, before Spike parted his lips to speak.

"'Allo, puppet."


	16. CH15: Old goodbyes and Morbid Lullabies

There was a dead silence in the elevator between the sisters, nothing but cheerful music playing in the background to add to the awkwardness. Buffy's grip on Dawn's wrist remained firm, and as the doors opened out into the lobby, she gave her an impatient tug before pulling her out of the confined space. Dawn said nothing, and simply allowed her sister to lead her out towards the doors. She cringed as the last rays of sunlight sent the streets into a blood-red glow, and nearly screamed as Buffy pulled her out into the light.

"It's okay, Dawn," Buffy snapped, glancing around as several people looked over their shoulders. "You're wearing the ring. You won't be burned, so just come _on_. We need to get you our of here before James gets back. I don't want a confrontation. Not now."

"Why aren't I burning?" Dawn sputtered, as Buffy flagged down a cab. She stuffed Dawn into the back seat before crawling in beside her. Giving the directions to the taxi driver, she glanced out the rear mirror as the car pulled away from the curb. Only then did her grip slacken on Dawn's wrist.

"Once we get back to the house, I'll explain everything," Buffy promised, turning to face Dawn, who simply watched in confusion as her expression changed from pleading to irritated. A fire sparked in her eyes, and she gave Dawn a good shake. "What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded, her tone a mix of desperation and rage. "Do you know what you could have done? All of this would have gone to waste, he could have _killed_ you!" she added for good measure, "Again!"

The man driving the cab shot them both a speculative glance in the rear view mirror, but said nothing as he guided the vehicle from the crowded evening streets of Down Town Sunny Dale towards the more suburban area. Dawn's lower lip trembled, despite the anger that was beginning to brew inside of her as well. How she wanted to yell and scream at Buffy, call her names, hit her, accuse her of doing this to her. It was childish to blame her sister for everything, but if she hadn't stolen Spike away from her, if she hadn't stumbled across the pair in that compromising position on the couch...she never would have left, blindly stumbling through the dark street, hurting and simply following the need to just get _away_ from both of them.

"What was I supposed to do?" she cried, finally giving in to the anger. It boiled over, bubbled up inside of her, and spilled out her mouth. "You took away the only thing that I cared about, the only person in this entire situation who understood me and made me feel better about myself and what I've turned in to!"

"What are you talking about?" Buffy demanded, looking confused. Dawn struggled to keep herself from screaming, and her eyes flooded over with tears. Sniffing, she pointed a shaky finger to Buffy, who sat but inches away. "I _love_ him, Buffy," she finally admitted, her hands dropping to her lap. "Whether you think it's stupid, childish, or something that could never happen, I _love_ Spike. But because _you _can't make up your own damned mind, you've kept him waiting, hopelessly, on the edge of his seat for months and months. He loves me, Buffy," she added, her voice faltering, recalling the words that he had uttered to her on two rare occasions only. "Or at least he _said_ he did. He had started too...then _you_ had to ruin it, because Buffy always has to gets what she want, regardless of whether ot not anyone else is happy."

"I don't want Spike!" Buffy denied, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.

"Then why did you take him away from me?" Dawn cried, grabbing on to Buffy's sleeve. "Why did you have to do that?" she demanded, "I'm not blind, I know what I saw in the living room. He sure as hell didn't _force_ himself on to you."

"We're here," The cab driver announced awkwardly, after clearing his throat. He glanced behind him and stated the total after hesitating upon the older sister's levelling glare. Buffy stared hard at Dawn for several seconds, before fishing inside her pockets for a wad of cash. She tossed it at the driver, and clambered out of the taxi as Dawn made a break for the door. She stalked towards the Summer's home angrily. The tears that rolled down her cheeks were cold, and she didn't give a damn if they ruined her make-up any worse than her previous crying had. Spike wasn't here to see. The door gave way easily as Dawn pushed it open. The plaster cracked as the force of the swinging door collided with the wall, and Dawn only ignored the anguished cry as Buffy had to wrench it from the wall.

"Buffy is that you?" Willow questioned, coming to stand near the entree way to the living room. Her eyes sparkled and her features lifted as soon as she saw Dawn. "You're okay!" she exclaimed in delight, but was avoided when she reached out to embrace the younger of the Summer's sisters. Dawn whirled around to lock gazes with Buffy, as Angel came up from the basement, eyebrows knit together and his forever brooding expression concerned.

"You're safe," he commented, glancing between the sisters and Dawn threw her hands up in the air. "Stating the obvious!" she snapped, and regretted it, although only momentarily. Perhaps this was what Spike had meant, when he had said vampires feel everything in extremities. She could do little to nothing to conceal the ultimate rage that consumed the entirety of her small form. She wanted to kick things, break things, scream at someone. All that had happened within the last month had been too much. Perhaps if things had stayed manageable...if she had stayed with Spike, and if Spike and Buffy hadn't betrayed her in the worst way possible—the break down that she was experiencing now could have been avoided. Maybe if Buffy knew what she wanted—maybe if _Spike_ knew what he wanted—her heart wouldn't be breaking as she stared in to the smoking, emerald green eyes adjacent her.

"Spike is going to be fine, Dawn," she began, her voice cold and low. She'd heard her sister use that tone plenty of times on other people, and she reserved it for when she was having difficulty keeping her own temper in check. Suddenly she didn't care, though. She _wanted_ to set her off. She wanted some sort of confrontation, in lue of angry words and tears. She wanted to show Buffy just how upset her actions had made her. Essentially, she had just been saved because of Buffy, but at the same time, if it wasn't for the fact that Buffy never thought anything through where it concerned love, lust, or other people's feelings in relation to it, she wouldn't have needed saving in the first place.

"I _hate_ you, Buffy," she growled, and even she was surprised at the venom in her words. Lips curling back, she pointed a finger once again, backing away towards the stairs. Her entire body was shaking, and all she could feel was the silent, animalistic need to tear something to little, tiny pieces creeping upon her. "You're a selfish, self-righteous _bitch_," she choked out, and was satisfied when Buffy's carefully collected facade slipped. Her eyes widened, and she parted her lips to speak, but Dawn continued on. "It's always got to be _your_ way, you never take other peoples feelings in to consideration. You _never_ took me seriously...and _you_'_re _the Slayer!" she added, franticly, stepping back onto the first stair. "_You_ should be back there, dusting that vampire for what he did to me. _Not_ him!" And with that, she turned and fled to her bedroom.

The room was silent as the resounding slam of her door echoed through the house.

Everyone stared at the floor, and no one said a word to Buffy.

"Come to play games, have we?" James mused, and if he was shocked by Spike's presence, he didn't let on. It sort of irked Spike that he remained so calm—after all, the vision he'd had had been nothing but a right bloody miracle. The Powers that Be must have been intent on saving the Bit, otherwise, why would he be here? He wasn't the least bit off-set. Anger swam it's way through his dry veins, and he had to use every ounce of self control not to simply launch himself at the other vampire.

"I don't play games," he answered, tilting his head. Running his tongue along his upper lip, he gave his steely-eyed opponent a quick once over. "I've come to finish the one you started, actually. While we're on the subject, I must admit I've damn near run out of patience for your ridiculous shenanigans."

James smirked and advanced into the room. Spike did not step back. Instead, he simply crossed his arms over his broad chest and tilted his head back, gaze locked. Blue eyes narrowing into slits, his lips thinned out into a small line that showed nothing but annoyance. James ceased his advance, sensing nothing joking about his attitude now.

"And how do you suppose you go about doing that?" James questioned, head tilting to the side ever so slightly. His eyes flickered a menacing silver under the moonlight as it drifted in from the haphazardly closed curtains.

"Kill you, obviously," Spike answered simply. He dropped his arms, rolled his shoulders, and stalked forward. James accepted the advance, and his fingers were unrelenting as he closed them round the others throat. His smile was amused as Spike pinned him to the wall, and pulling his lips back, let out a long, angry snarl. They held one another at a distance, muscles taut, and a thick tension settling between them. "The damage you've caused 'round here is irrevocable, even your _death_ won't suffice. It'll have to do, though, and I _will_ take extreme pleasure in dusting you myself."

James scoffed, and wound his fingers into the collar of Spike's shirt. With a vicious tug, he smashed his forehead into Spike's. Spike was thrown off and stumbled back, as James shimmied to the side. Righting himself, he dusted off his jacket before running a hand through his dishevelled hair.

"Sire or not," he began, amusement dripping from each word he spoke, "when it comes to brutality, I think I win in that department. Not to mention, your fancying the Summer's sisters has not only gotten you nowhere, but it's made you soft as well. Crying shame, if you ask me, really. You had so much potential. I truly _was_ looking forward to seeing you again."

Spike snarled, and stalking forward, shot a fist out. His hand closed easily around James shoulder, and he tugged him closer. James blinked in surprise, and lifted a hand to deflect his other oncoming fist, but he wasn't fast enough. A satisfying crunch was heard as Spike's knuckles curled into his cheekbone, and instead of letting the other vampire drop, he tightened his grip and drew his arm back once again. James was not fool enough to allow the mistake a second time, and he threw his elbow up to block the oncoming hit. If Spike hadn't been so consumed by rage, he would have though to maybe raise a knee. He was knocked back into the wall, and a decorative painting crashed to the floor. Glass shattered, and James stared hard at Spike before tentatively licking a small gathering of blood near the corner of his lip.

"At least you've still got a bit of the old William in you," he commented approvingly. "Nice to see playing Buffy's faithful servant hasn't ruined you entirely. Not yet, anyway. But you're no good to me anymore. In fact, I'm _much_ more interested in Dawn."

"You left her to _die_," Spike seethed. "You won't touch her again. You'll be a pile of ash at my feet before I let you near her again." He stalked around the edge of the bed, James following the notion to stand at the head of the mattress. They watched one another, and James shrugged before glancing to the door. Shadows fell beneath the crack, and several voices could be heard.

"What's going on in there?" A strong, male voice called.

"I heard something break," a female voice commented. "Someone get the hotel manager!"

"We'll see how true you are to your word," James began, "I've found an old friend of yours I think you'd much like to see again. It should make this more interesting, if anything. Although I don't think she'll be much pleased to see the situation you're in." He laughed, before turning in one swift movement. He knelt down, fingers curling under the mattress, before ripping the bed from its posts. The mattress flew towards Spike and he cursed as he was knocked back against the wall nearest the bathroom. Tangled in a mess of bed sheets and pillows, he tore at the fabrics before pushing the heavy mattress off his frame. When he managed to clamber to his feet, the hotel window was wide open, and the curtains were being sucked out into the warm breeze. Moonlight poured in, casting the destroyed room in an eery glow. Swearing loudly, Spike smashed his foot into the wall, creating yet another prominent hole in the plaster. As the door knob began to twist, he made haste to the window before slipping out onto the angled roof of the hotel.

Within seconds, he was on the ground, and marching with purpose, towards the crowded streets.

Damn it all! How was it that he some how managed to keep _escaping_ him? Bollocks! He should have killed the damned vampire when he'd had his chance the last time. Pre-occupied with Dawn however, he'd made the mistake of letting him live. And now, if he couldn't manage to find the leech, he'd only end up putting Dawn in more danger. Buffy had trusted him to finish the job tonight, and his blood boiled at the thought of being thought incompetent. By Buffy, James, and most of all, the Nibblet.

His insides churned when he recalled the sight of her not even two hours earlier. The expression of relief and then the hurt that soon followed as she crumbled in his arms. Their reunion had been short and bittersweet however, for Buffy had pulled her from him before he'd even had so much of a chance to apologize to her. For everything. In the midst of all this chaos now, what he wanted most was to simply beg Dawn for forgiveness. Somehow convince her that he really _did_ love her. That he was a ponce, stark raving _mad_ for letting his previous emotions with Buffy confuse him for even the briefest of moments as to how he felt about her, or what he truly wanted.

His blue eyes scanned the proximity as he came to a solid standstill about two blocks from the hotel.

Panic welling inside of him as he registered James' last words. An old friend? Who in the bloody hell could that be? He hadn't an idea in the slightest. For now, his mind was racing and his fingers itched to close around a good, solid stake and drive it through that bastards heart. He would revel in the ashes as they slid between his fingers, and take a long time in cherishing the moment where he could, pardon the irony, finally rest in peace.

"Well you've been a naughty boy, 'aven't you, Spikey?"

Chills ran up his spine then, and it was as if time slowed to a stand still. Swallowing thickly, it took Spike another moment to digest the words that had just been said, the voice, and the playful, amused tone in which they had been spoken. It had come from behind him, and slowly, he turned on the ball of his feet. He shouldn't have been surprised, for her voice had been exactly how he'd remembered it. Her face the exact same, the coy, knowing smile that pulled it's way along full, ruby lips. Her eyes flashed, and her teeth shone under the moonlight, before she let out a laugh that was low, wicked, and utterly evil.

He couldn't bring himself to do much but stand in her presence. She was wrapped in a satin dress. The hemline kissed her mid thighs, and her long legs were accentuated by a pair of sharp looking heels. Her shoulders were draped with a blood red scarf, off setting her pale, alabaster skin. Her hair was pulled back from her face, several tendrils falling in gentle, purposeful curls along the nape of her neck and sides of her face. She looked much different from the last time he had laid sight of her, but there was absolutely no mistaking the woman who stood before him.

He could barely utter her name.

"Dru?" he whispered.

**Okay, so, I know it's been a while since I've updated, but I've seriously had a lotttt of stuff going on. I've said it before, but I'm going to try and get more updates in as often as I can. The story is finally kind of coming together now, and I'm sorry if it's coming off as rushed. It takes me a while to write it, so it seems like things are going by a lot slower than when I go back and re-read them haha. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, and I'm really happy you like it so far. It also makes me really happy to hear that you think I've captured the characters personalities well. (: **


	17. CH16

-1Spike's eyes narrowed considerably as he took in the sight of a woman he'd long since given up any hope of seeing again. Yet there she stood, dressed to kill, with a smile to match. Her eyes were sharp, and he new by this that she was in a particularly lucid state; well aware of what was going on around her, and a force to be reckoned with should she decide to be one. He remained completely still, the muscles in his body tense, although she remained relaxed.

"Hello, love," Drusilla crooned, tilting her head to the side. A flashy smile, and her teeth stood out sharply in contrast to the blood red stain adorning her lips. When she received no response other than his previous surprised utterance of her name, a pout fell to her mouth instantly, and she stomped her foot before slender fingers curled along her narrow hips.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me, Spikey," she sulked, and her large eyes reflected the pale moon, giving off an eerie, unnatural glow that only animals seemed to possess. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I've missed you _so_." Stepping forward, she extended her arms as if to embrace Spike. He grimaced in turn, before skittering back a few steps to keep the distance between them.

"Right," he responded if not doubtfully, his eyebrows raising as she took his hint and stopped her advance, before her arms fell back awkwardly to her sides. To Drusilla's credit, she really did seem put off by his lack of excitement to see her. But she'd left him for a bloody lower demon; a sodding, crying mess he had been. She just expected him to accept her return with open arms? Abandonment aside, he was a different man now, and he felt nothing but bewilderment when he gazed upon her countenance.

"What in the bloody hell are you doin' here?" he finally asked, the tone in his voice the very epitome of incredulity.

"Ohh," Dru responded, clasping her hands together. She seemed rather excited by his inquiry, and she glanced to the streets around them before snatching the sleeve of his duster. Before he had a chance to respond, she'd slipped her arm through his and veered him away from the streets, towards a particularly dark, seemingly empty alley. "Well you remember James," she began, her voice light and airy, aloof. A tone he remembered now not with fondness but mild trepidation. This is what James had meant by 'an old friend'. Drusilla would never have come here on her own; their chapter hand long since ended, and she was not one to repeat herself. Centuries together and they had run their course; which only meant that she was here as a distraction.

"I'd gone back to London after we decided to part ways," Spike scoffed, but she ignored him. "And he'd surprised me with a visit. He told me he had planned on coming to see how my Spikey was doing back in Sunnydale, but," she continued, and her gaze narrowed. Without warning she had slammed him back against the brick wall. His skull rattled as she did, and her pleasant expression turned into a twisted mask of anger. "he told me the most horrid news. He said that _you_ had it on with the _Slayer_. Now, I wouldn't believe him mind you," she continued, and her grip on his shoulders softened, as if she were reliving a moment in the past. Her eyes hardened soon after, and she lifted a knee swiftly to connect with his gut. Spike gasped, grabbing his side before teetering off to the left. He'd forgotten that despite her slight appearance, Drusilla was one to be taken seriously. She enjoyed plucking the eyes out of children and carrying the corpses about as if they were dolls, after all. "but when we came _back_ to Sunnydale, I saw you flitting about with her, and getting on with her friends as if you were _chums_. Now, do you know how that makes me feel?"

Her tone was genuinely upset, and Spike lifted his head, before gingerly righting himself. Drusilla stomped her foot before her expression glazed over and she approached him slowly, head lolling to the side. A small smile danced on her lips, and Spike shrugged, the sarcasm in his voice plainly obvious.

"About as wonderful as it felt to have you bugger off with that damned lower demon. You left me with butterflies; I truly was _swimming_ in them."

Spike held his ground as Drusilla approached, and at his words, her smile faltered some. Cocking his to the side, he lifted his eyebrows before raising his hands as if in question.

"What? I'm sorry love, does my tone bother you?" he asked cattily, before adding with a sneer, "Things have changed 'round here now, and I've not the patience to put up with your mad drabbles. So go on and be a dear and tell me where, exactly, James went. I don't have much use for you otherwise."

"I should tear out your throat for speaking to me that way," she growled, although the pout in her voice was obvious; she was used to the indulgent Spike, the Spike who kissed the ground she walked upon. He could tell by her assessing look now that she was trying to discern the change that had taken place within him. However, his shocked had receded and his patience was wearing thing. She was doing exactly what she was meant to do; distract him, and keep him from reaching James before he managed to track down Buffy and the Platelet.

Spike stepped forward and grabbing Drusilla by her scarf, he slammed her up against the wall in much a similar fashion she had done to him not but five minutes earlier. Her eyes spiked in delight, and she bit her lower lip and a small, pleased giggle escaped her. "You haven't changed that much then, have you?" she mused aloud, and his hands slid down to grip her shoulders, nails biting into the cool flesh. He gave her another hard shake, before seething, "Tell me where he _is_."

"Oh this isn't any fun," Drusilla exclaimed moodily, and her head lolled again. "It doesn't matter if I told you I suppose; I'd imagine he has a hold of your precious new toy by now."

Letting out an angry growl, Spike shoved her back, away from him and turned to stalk angrily from the mouth of the alley.

The Summers home didn't look any different when he approached, and his pace did not falter. Marching up the steps, he let his fist fall down along the door in quick, sharp raps. When he was greeted with no answer, worry swam along his nerves in a sharp jolt, before he bellowed, "Buffy! Open the door, it's Spike."

Shortly after, the door opened and Spike was greeted by a sight that made the worry in him increase twice fold. "What?" he demanded, stepping into the house. "What is it? Is she okay?"

Buffy closed the door and nodded silently, before hugging her small frame. She lingered by the door, and Spike was suddenly confused. Her eyes were red as if she'd been crying, and the way she held herself seemed almost defeated. An unnatural look for the Slayer. "James?" she asked, and her voice was very quiet. She stared at his boots instead of lifting her eyes to meet his gaze, and Spike stepped forward.

"I was distracted," he began, and only then did she lift her gaze; her eyes were sharp now, but before she could speak, he added with a mild grimace, "James thought it'd be a clever idea if her brought Dru back to pay me a visit."

"Oh," Buffy began with a frown. It took a second for her to connect the dots before she looked up in alarm. "So that means James…"

"Where is she?"

"Upstairs."

Spike turned, ignoring his concern for one Summer's sister to address his concern for the other. As he ascended the stairs, he tilted his head in hopes of catching a sound or sense of normalcy. When he opened her bedroom door, relief washed over him so greatly that his knees nearly buckled. Grabbing onto the doorframe to steady himself, his relief was replaced by a strong desire to embrace the brunette who turned from staring out the window, to fix pale grey eyes onto his face. Her expression brightened considerably, and taking that as encouragement, he closed the door and strode across the room to close the distance between them.

She was small in his arms, as she always had been, and he crushed her against him. Hands slipping up to lace his fingers in her hair, he pressed his mouth to the crown of her head and inhaled deeply the scent of her. Her arms wrapped around his torso, and she trembled under his touch as he drew her away from him. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and he struggled to find the words to express the feelings that were consuming him all at once.

"Dawn," he managed, and they stood, staring at one another before he pulled her face up to press his lips to hers. She yielded almost immediately, and her body moulded to his front. Hands roughly cupping her face, he stumbled back until his knees collided with the edge of her bed. Promptly falling to his backside, she climbed above him on the duvet and his hands slid down to hold onto her waist. Her dark hair surrounded them like a curtain, and he couldn't conceal the soft noise elicited from him by her cold hands sliding underneath his shirt. Her fingers spread and her palms smoothed out along the flat surface of his belly, before she dug her nails into the skin. His back arched in response, and he promptly flipped her onto her back.

"I was bloody worried about you," he whispered, his words rough and low, something akin to a growl. She slid her hands up along his arms and he shrugged out of his duster, before his fingers tugged at her shirt. He relished her smooth skin and the feel of it, as he explored beneath the fabric, and she lifted her hips almost impatiently. "Me?" she huffed, her own voice soft, dripping with undisguised want, "I didn't know if I was ever going to see you again."

Tugging down her pants, Spike glanced towards the door before fumbling with his own belt. It came loose and she helped him ease his jeans down his thighs, before he positioned himself between hers. His entry was rough, and she bit her lip to keep from making a sound. Quiet, small whimpers escaped with every frantic thrust however, and the look of pure bliss on her features was nearly enough to drive him over the edge.

She lifted her hips in time to his, and he leaned over her, supporting his weight with his arms. She moaned into his mouth as he hooked his hand behind her knee, and raised it higher so that he could better angle his thrusts. She clawed at his shirt, her nails biting the flesh of his back through the fabric, and he pressed his face alongside her collarbone as she grew impossibly tight around him. Her entire body tensed, thighs going stiff as he too was consumed by the thrush of their bodies pressed flush against one another. A low, animalistic groan escaped him before he collapsed entirely on top of her. She clung to him, and he was blissfully unaware of anything except Dawn for the next several moments.

When his nerves no longer felt as if they were on fire, he pulled himself up. Dawn raised herself on to her elbows, and watched him as he righted his lower half. She wiggled back into her panties as he knelt to gather his discarded duster, and once she had slid her pants on again, he sat down beside her on the bed. They stared at the wall in silence, before Dawn scooted closer to him. Her hand slipped alongside his thigh before her fingers sought out his own. He watched as they interlaced, and when she squeezed his hand, he turned to give her a sidelong glance.  
"I love you," he said fiercely. Dawn's expression was unreadable a moment, before she smiled and looked down at their hands. "I know," she said quietly, "I love you, too."

"When this is over," Spike found himself saying, turning to face her directly, "I want you to come away with me." Dawn's eyes widened as he lifted his hand, and ran his thumb along her cheek bone.

"You mean leave Sunnydale?"

"Unless you'd prefer to stay," Spike offered, and Dawn quickly shook her head. She glanced towards the door, before her expression turned bitter. "There's nothing here for me," she said quietly, before meeting Spike's gaze steadily. "I want to go with you."

Spike hesitated, before raising his eyebrows. "And Buffy?"

"Buffy…." Dawn trailed off, before her eyes widened. "Buffy!" she exclaimed getting to her feet. Spike turned to watch as she headed towards the door. "Buffy?" she called down the hall. Confused, Spike rose to his feet as Dawn dashed from the room and down the hall. Following suite, he descended the stairs at her heels.

Dawn hadn't been aware that everyone had left. She reasoned, guiltily, that they had done so to give the sisters some space. After her screaming fit though, she hadn't paid attention to much. She'd simply stalked up to her room, slammed her bedroom door with a supernatural strength she was not yet used to (splintering the wood) and had spent the next hour ripping photos of her and her sister together off of the bulletin board that was positioned near the head of her bed.

Her anger had dissipated immediately once Spike had entered her room. If she had a heart beat, it would have been hammering away furiously within her ribcage. The relief at the sight of him lingering in her doorway, her feelings mirrored in his eyes, before he closed the distance between them and she was in his arms. Held by him, and surrounded by the intoxicating, comforting _familiar _scent of him. She hadn't expected her anger from what he had done with Buffy to vanish so quickly, but the fact that he was still alive and not a pile of ash was enough to distract her.

She tried not to dwell on that thought now as she went from room to room on the main floor, franticly searching for her sister. Her worry continued to mount as Spike followed behind her, and they were greeted consecutively by empty room after empty room. The silence seemed thick, and Dawn was about to burst into tears when she spotted a piece of paper sitting on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Snatching it up, her eyes scanned the note.

_You're right.  
I should have gone to finish this myself.  
Stay in the house with Spike, you'll be safe there._

I love you.

"What the bloody hell is this about?" Spike asked, and snatched the note from her trembling fingers. His blue eyes slipped over each word, and his expression darkened. "What happened, Nibblet?" he asked, and the guilt inside the pit of her stomach only expanded. "She seemed a bit put out when I got here."

"Nothing," Dawn said dismissively with a wave of her hand. "A-anyway," she stammered, heading towards the door, "We have to go and catch up with her."

"No, we don't," Spike answered, and setting the note down on the counter he reached out and closed his fingers around her slender wrist. "We're going to do exactly what your sis says, and stay put. You're safest here." He eyed the gleaming ring on her finger before adding, "And keep that on your finger, pet. It will make you damn near impossible to scratch, let alone…whatever James has in mind for you."

"We can't just let her fight him on her _own_," Dawn pleaded, pointing towards the door. "She could get hurt."

Jaw tense, Spike let his gaze drop from hers to somewhere along her neck. Giving her a gentle but firm tug, he yanked her away from the door and back into the living area. Setting her down on one of the plush couches, he lowered himself onto the coffee table adjacent it so he could look her directly in the eyes.

"Buffy is the Slayer," he said evenly, his voice low, "She's doing her job, and I'm doing mine. You know damn well she can handle her own; when it all comes down to it, all he is is a vampire. He might be smarter than the average leech, mind you, but you stick a piece of wood in his chest he'll turn to ash all the same."

"What if she gets hurt?" Dawn asked again, briefly recalling the angry words she had shouted to her sister.

_"You should be back there, dusting that vampire for what he did to me. Not him!"_

Spike let out a frustrated sigh, before cupping her face in his hands.

"Of course I care Dawn," he said, his eyes searching her face. "But I'm not going to leave you alone again. If something more happened to you because of me, I couldn't live with myself."

"None of this is your fault," she answered, her tone bewildered. Spike answered her statement with a grim smile that never reached his eyes.

"But it is, Pet," he responded. "It is."__

_**Next chapter will be written in Buffy's P.O.V. R&R please. Took me long enough.**_


	18. CH17

-1The streets were dark, but the only unease that Buffy felt was in her heart. Not for fear for herself; she was used to wandering about long past daylight hours. Her slender fingers curled around a stake she didn't bother to conceal, as her steady pace lead her towards the cemetery. Guilt roiled inside of her, and she tried not to think about Dawn's last words before she had fled upstairs to her room. She'd left the gang in silence, and Xander had awkwardly offered sanctuary at his house, so that the Summer's sisters could work out their differences.

The only problem with that was their difference was Spike.

Buffy hated to admit it, even to herself, but after the others had left, she had stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do and under Angel's scrutiny. It hadn't really needed to be said, but he'd offered to return to L.A, and had bestowed a soft, gentle kiss along her forehead before showing himself out the front door. She had sat for an hour in the living room, holding herself and fighting the urge to cry. She knew she hadn't been the best sister; the greatest support for Dawn going through anything. Highschool, boys, now _this_. It had turned out the exact opposite of how she wanted Dawn to live. Everything normal had been torn from her and it was all Buffy's fault.

When had Dawn developed feelings for Spike? And when, she added, had Spike returned them? Thrown into the confusion were her own feelings; she would deny anyone who asked, but deep down she knew that to her, Spike wasn't _just _the outlet she wanted him to believe he was. Some part of her did love him, and no matter how sick or twisted that part of her was, she had been genuinely surprised-and hurt-when Spike had finally admitted that he loved Dawn. His blue eyes had been firm, jaw set, and his posture straight. She knew that look; he'd often looked at her that way when he'd told her that, too. Determined to make her believe him.

What did she expect? He'd followed her around for years, and she'd done nothing but reject him. She'd slipped up after Willow had brought her back; he'd managed to fill an empty void inside of her that hadn't been there, before. His presence soothed the emptiness and made her feel almost normal again. But in the end it had been unfair to him; she had no idea what she wanted, and it wasn't right to put either of them through the emotional turmoil that had followed. It was her destiny, Buffy thought miserably as she pushed open the gates of the cemetery, to be the Slayer, and forever fail at relationships.

Green eyes scanning her surroundings, she cocked her head to listen for any sign of disturbances. It was particularly quiet, but her intuition told her she should be alert. Crouching down, she glanced to the left, and then to the right. Her heart gave a particularly weird jerk as she laid eyes on Spike's crypt, off in the distance, and she briefly pushed the image of his cocky smile from her mind.

"James!" she called out to no one in particular. "You and I have unfinished business," she growled, the venom in her words not difficult to discern. "You can't go after Dawn anymore, she's safe from you now. Might as well come out and end this."

She prowled several rows of tombstones before the sound of a fallen branch snapping underfoot drew her attention to the west. He stood, no, he _lounged_ against a large, gnarled Willow tree. His arms crossed and his icy eyes seemed to catch the glimmer of the moon. Buffy straightened her posture and marched forward with one intent : to kill. James didn't seem concerned as she raised her stake, and bringing it down swiftly, he stepped to the side and knocked her arm away from him.

Whirling on the ball of her foot, she turned to give him a glare, which he returned with a look of mock hurt. "What? No hello, just stake first ask questions later? I must say, I'm a bit disappointed. I thought we could have a chat before we sorted this out."

"You killed my sister," Buffy seethed, "You don't get to talk to me. You just get to

die."

"She's safe though, isn't she?" James questioned, lifting an eyebrow. "Or, those were you words."

"You turned her into a vampire!" Buffy yelled, stalking closer. James moved back swiftly, although his gaze did not waver from her face as he weaved in between tombstones. She followed angrily, and throwing a blind punch, which he deflected easily, she continued. "You took away her humanity. You _kidnapped_ her."

"On the contrary, Slayer," James responded easily, his voice deep, calm, despite the visibly mounting anger and frustration in Buffy, "_You_ made the decision to turn her, and William was the one who finished the job. She could have died human, but you made her what she is. And kidnap?" he scoffed. "Hardly. She came with me of her own free will. And, once again, I believe it was your actions that helped make her decision."

Buffy flushed, before stepping forward and angrily lifting her elbow. She spun on her heel as he moved to block it, and jerked her opposite elbow up to collide with his jaw. A satisfying crunch and a brief explosion of pain in her elbow, before James stumbled back, and nearly tripped over a decaying tombstone.

"You don't think you're going to win, do you?" Buffy asked, eyebrows raised as he righted himself. James snarled before lashing out. She barely managed to slip just out of reach, before she snatched his wrist and with a quick, wicked yank upwards, snapped the bone. "I mean, after all, you might be smart, but you're just a vampire. I'm the Vampire _Slayer_," she added, ducking away from a punch. Her fist sank into his gut, and when he doubled over, she lifted her knee to connect with his face. He dropped to his knees, and she tilted her head, hands on her hips. "I kill things like you every day, just for _being_ vampires. What do you think happens when you royally piss me off?"

James was silent a moment, before a sound passed from his lips that disturbed Buffy and shook her confidence. He was laughing; it was deep, low, and maniacal; unsettling her so much that she took a step back. When James lifted his face, her stomach dropped. His handsome features had morphed from their human countenance to the true face of a vampire. His yellow eyes gleamed hungrily, and he rose slowly to his feet. Licking the blood from his upper lip, where it pooled down from the gash in his nose, he cocked his head and advanced. Buffy retreated, sensing something different about him now, as his mouth curled up into what she could only describe as an _evil_ smile.

"You may be the Slayer," he mused, and Buffy's heart quickened its pace as he launched forward. She managed to slip under his first punch, but he spun on his heel and lifting his opposing foot, slammed it into her face. Pain exploded along her left temple and cheekbone, and she grappled for something, _anything_ to hold on to as she lost her balance. Dropping to one knee, it took a moment for the lights to stop dancing before her eyes. It was too late however, for James had her by the collar once her vision cleared. He rammed her back into the Willow tree, and she grimaced as splinters of wood bit through the thin fabric of her pullover. She tasted something metallic on her tongue, and realized as his eyes dropped to her mouth, that her lip had been split open. "But I've been around _much_ longer than you have. I'm not a fool, like William, to fall for a pretty face and change centuries of lifestyle based solely on the pathetic idea of love. Love is for humans," he spat, giving her a good shake. "And it's nothing but a weakness. One I'm going to exploit."

He threw her down to the ground with such unexpected force, that Buffy's skull rattled and the stake she had been otherwise clinging to flew from her fingers. She let out a grunt and tried to shimmy forward on her stomach to snatch it from it's new place in the dirt, but James grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her to her knees. She wrenched herself away before skittering to her feet, and eyed the stake that lay five feet between them.

James looked between them to where her weapon lay. Buffy was embarrassed to admit but in her anger she had greatly underestimated his power, and had only thought to bring one weapon with her. James scoffed before stepping forward. He knelt down to pick up the stake, before turning it in his long fingers.  
"You know," he mused aloud, "Vampires aren't the only things that can be killed with this."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Buffy launched forward. Catching him off guard, she kicked the stake from his fingers, and it flew over several rows of tombstones to land, out of sight. Grabbing onto his collar, Buffy used the momentum of her advance to propel him backwards. He stumbled and they fell. Crawling on top of him, she began to reign blow after blow down upon his face.

"I don't need a stake to kill you!" she screamed, unable to discern whether the pain in her hands was from punching him, or her bones breaking from the force of them. His features had turned into a bloody mess, and he snarled, hands grabbing at her flailing wrists as she continued to hit him. "I'm going to kill you!" she cried, even as a pair of strong arms looped through hers and pulled her off of him. Struggling, she turned her head to see who held her in place, and was met with a ruby red smile and eyes that were distant, almost as if the person wasn't entirely there.

"Drusilla!" Buffy hissed, and she responded with a wicked laugh.

"You've been naughty, haven't you?" she asked gleefully, before her tone turned sour. "Not as naughty as Spikey's been, but everything is your fault!" Giving her a rough jerk, Buffy gritted her teeth as her arms were nearly pulled from their sockets. James rose to his feet, and smoothing his dishevelled hair back from his bloody features, he stepped forward and rammed his fist into Buffy's upper abdomen. She let out an agonized groan as Drusilla held her in place, and a loud, audible crack was heard. Pain laced it's way up Buffy's side, and she knew that he'd broken a rib.

"You'll have to do for a start," he reasoned out loud, flexing his fingers. His golden eyes locked with hers, and he smiled. "It's probably easier that way, actually. With you out of the way, Spike won't have a Slayer to hide behind; neither will your lovely little sister. It will all fall in to place on it's own, I suppose."

"You're not going to touch Dawn!" Buffy spat, but to her mild horror, despite her best efforts, her broken rib kept her from struggling to the best of her ability. A shoulder popped as Drusilla gave a vicious tug, and pulled it from it's socket. She cried out as one arm bent awkwardly and painfully, and to her disgust her knees buckled from under her. As she sank to the ground, she was consumed by disbelief as spots began to dance in front of her. What was _wrong_ with her? She had taken down hoards of vampires all on her own before, without a problem. Sure, she'd suffered the standard scrapes and bruises and occasional gash or three, but to be taken down so easily by _two_ of them? She was a disgrace to her Slayer lineage.

"Now that's just not right," a familiar voice said in mild disgust. Buffy managed to lift her gaze, and relief flooded through her system as a certain familiar bleach blond vampire stepped out from behind the tree. He had a large, heavy looking axe in one hand and a thick belt draped over his broad shoulders, boasting several stakes and a few foreboding daggers. "I guess chivalry really is dead then, isn't it?" he added, before his eyes moved from where Buffy knelt, to Drusilla. He tilting his head and his features took on one of mild disappointment.

"This really is tragic," he continued in nonchalance. Buffy glanced towards James. He seemed to have forgotten about Buffy, and his gleaming eyes were trained on Spike. Drusilla gave Buffy another yank for good measure, and to her displeasure she was unable to hide the small, pained noise that slid past her lips. Their attention both seemed to be drawn to the other however, and Drusilla took a step back as he advanced. Spike hefted the axe easily into the air to rest it on his shoulder, and cocking his head, a deep chuckle resonated through him.

"Ganging up on the Slayer are we, pet?" he addressed Drusilla, who seemed put off by his question. "Come on now, I thought you were better than that, Dru."

"Well I for one wanted you to come out and play," Drusilla quipped, and Buffy gave a tug on her arms. Drusilla's grip wasn't as strong, her grip slackened while provided with the distraction of her former lover. Crumpling to the ground, Buffy curled up into a ball as pain bloomed up along her side and into her shoulder, before travelling down her shoulder blade, upper arm and elbow simultaneously. "If ruining your plaything is what needs to be done to get your attention, then I _hardly_ see the problem."

Scoffing, Spike stepped forward and lifting the axe, gripped the tethered rod with a firmness that suggested he was ready to, in Drusilla's words, 'play'.

"Come on, then," he smirked, glancing to James. "You've got a problem with _me_, and if we're being entirely honest I reckon you've done enough bloody damage to last plenty and I'm damn well tired of this rubbish. Why don't we have a go? See if you can handle The Big Bad."

"Is that a challenge or a suggestion?" James questioned, his voice cool, but definitely intrigued. Buffy rolled away from the vampires, both of whom seemed to be focused now entirely on Spike. She pulled herself into a seated position, and nearly fell back on to her side as a wave of nausea rolled over her. Spike and James exchanged a few more quips, of which Buffy wasn't entirely aware of. Gritting her teeth, she glanced through her side swept, dirty bangs to see Drusilla leaning forward in anticipation as Spike and James began to fight. She ignored the pain that grew into a steady burn as she inched past a row of tombstones.

The fingers on her good hand finally grasped the stake, and rolling onto her back, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breathes to steady herself. It was difficult to breath and her bad hand had started to grow numb. Pulling herself into a seated position, she bit down hard on her lip as she clasped her injured wrist and with a swift, precise yank, snapped her shoulder back into its socket. A small gasp escaped her, and she looked quickly over to where the other vampires were. Drusilla seemed engrossed in the fight taking place, and briefly, Buffy's eyes studied the scene before her. James had Spike by the throat, although he looked to be in considerably worse condition than he had been earlier. Spike had lost his axe; it was strewn some feet away from the both of them, and his eyebrow was bleeding. Aside from that mild injury however, he didn't seem to be in any immediate peril. With some effort Buffy got to her feet and stumbling forward, called, "Hey!" Distracted, Drusilla turned her attention to Buffy, and lunging forward, she felt and heard the satisfying crunch as her stake rammed between her ribcage. Drusilla's countenance changed from human to demonic, before she blinked once, let out a small cry, and turned to ash.

"Play with that, you crazy bitch," she huffed, before turning her attention back to the quarrelling vampires. James was straddling Spike, pinning him to the ground. They were both growling savagely like beasts, and Buffy rushed to the best of her ability, to Spike's aide.

"Bloody hell," she heard Spike growl, before he swung a punch. James avoided it, but Spike's fingers curled into his shirt and he brought his head down to collide with his own forehead. Stunned, James rolled off of him and Spike clambered to his feet. "I'm going to dust you for what you did to Dawn," he snarled, "I should've done it before, but I'll be damned if I'm going to make that same mistake again."

James let out a dark laugh before pulling himself to his feet. Spike rose as well, and James turned to give Buffy a look of realization. She could tell by the way his eyes scanned the area behind her, he hadn't been paying attention to either her or Drusilla, and the exaggerated creases in his forehead deepened as he frowned.

"She's gone," Buffy clarified, and turned to gauge Spike's reaction. Raising her stake, she summoned as much energy as she could to look threatening. "All that's left is you," she continued, stepping closer and damning herself inwardly, for she knew her edge had been diminished by the unavoidable limp that encumbered her. Spike looked incredulous, and for a moment, at a complete loss of words. For some reason, Buffy pitied him; she even felt _bad_ for staking Drusilla, but it faded quickly when James gave a snort of indifference.

"She served her purpose as intended," he smirked, advancing towards Buffy. She skittered back, and he lashed out with an unexpected speed, once again tearing the stake from her. Stepping closer, he grabbed her by the shoulders, and she screamed in pain as his fingers dug into her wounded arm. Her scream escalated into a cry of shock as his fangs sank deep into her jugular. Spike barked her name in concern before advancing, and grabbing James savagely by the shoulders pulled him back into a head lock. Buffy dropped to the ground as his handsome features too, morphed into the face of the demon. Spike's yellow eyes gleamed almost evilly as he grabbed the other vampires head, and with a vicious and swift twist to the right, left him to drop to his knees in a crumpled mess and simultaneously turn to ash. He didn't make a sound as his remains wafted to the dirt, before being blown away in the cool breeze.

"Buffy," Spike called, his face sliding back into its human façade. "No, no, no, _Buffy_," he continued desperately. She could feel the blood run freely from her neck but couldn't be bothered to lift her head or open her eyes as an arm slid around her back to support her. She couldn't even be bothered to wince, or announce her discomfort as the sensation of being lifted consumed her.

"Buffy, _answer me_," Spike pleaded. "Stay with me. Say something."

"I can't feel…" she began, struggling to find the rest of her sentence. She couldn't feel what? Everything felt warm and she wasn't in pain any longer. Spike's voice faded from her as she drifted back into nothingness, surrounded by a soft, warm glow. She felt at peace. A similar sensation to what she had felt…sometime before. She couldn't recall, exactly, when it was or how it had come to be. But she felt at peace. Dawn was safe. Dawn? For a moment, worry and something akin to regret consumed her, before it vanished as quickly as it had come.

Not long after, a small, distinct pain in her arm drew her from where she rest. The warmth and pleasant feeling dissipated and she felt as if she were sinking, slowly, downward. As she descended, noises and voices became clear to her. Muffled, jumbled sentences, orders, almost, before a white light, unlike the other, blinded her eyes even behind closed lids. Letting out a small groan, she struggled to open her eyes.

"She's back," she heard someone say in relief, before a collective sigh filled her ears. When her vision cleared, she stared blearily out across the bleached, white-washed walls of what she now realized was a hospital room. Spike stood at the opposite end, clothes torn, covered in dirt, his face a mess, and his blue eyes impossibly bright.

Frowning, she tried to form words, just as two large men in scrubs approached Spike. He glanced to them, and then back towards Buffy in dismay, before he was led out of the room. Buffy was tired now; not like before, and when she closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness, no white, warm, comforting light was there to soothe her. Only a dreamless, drug induced sleep.


	19. CH18

-1Three hours passed the incident, and Spike still lingered in the halls outside of the ICU. Buffy had been moved there, and the nurses had informed him _despite_ the fact that he had been the one to bring her in, that only family was allowed to see her. Much to his chagrin, he had been left no other choice but to contact Giles, of whom upon Dawn's insistence, had taken on the role of baby sitter while Spike himself had left to assist Buffy in killing James.

"What do you mean, she's hospitalized?" Giles had whispered fiercely into the receiver, although Spike briefly wondered why. Dawn would have no problem hearing him, even if she were in the other room. "You were supposed to _help_ her, not put her in a bloody coma."

"Sod off, you old git," Spike growled into the phone, glancing about the halls as staff milled about, charts in hand, off doing their own expected duties. "She's alright, and she's _not_ in a coma, they gave her some medicine to help with the pain. She's asleep is all."

"What happened, exactly?" Giles responded, sounding put-out, and Spike swore he could _hear_ the mean cleaning his glasses. "It was only one vampire, I hardly doubt that merit's a trip to the hospital lest _you_ had something to do with putting her there."

Anger consumed him then, and Spike's grip on the receiver grew so firm that the plastic cracked under his palm. Voice low, he curled his free hand into a fist and closing his eyes, tried to the best of his ability not to scream at the pompous old bag who dared ridicule or make implications while he sat safely at home.

"Will you just get the Bit here?" he hissed, before adding, "The job's been done. Dru and James are history, so the only thing you've to worry 'bout now, _Watcher, _is my temper, which might I add, is not in the best of sorts right now. I think a rather large headache would be worth it to knock you off your high horse." He slammed the phone down and spun angrily on his heel to stalk towards the seats lining the hall adjacent from the payphone. Kicking a wooden leg out of frustration, he whirled around and sank back into the chair. Elbows on his knees, he cradled his head in his hands and resisted the urge to let out a frustrated, inhuman growl.

Half an hour later, the sound of clambering footsteps as opposed to the steady, rhythmic footfalls of the staff caused Spike to raise his head. Dawn was marching down the hall, her features laced with worry, and following shortly behind was the rest of the Scooby gang. Giles looked more agitated than usual, as he struggled to keep up with Dawn's pace. Behind him, Xander and Anya and behind them, a flash of red hair told him that Willow and Tara must have come, too.

Rising to his feet, Spike was a little surprised, but welcomed Dawn as she threw herself at him. He returned her embrace with a desperate one of his own before sensing eyes on them. He withdrew from her quickly, and cleared his throat. Motioning to a door several feet away, he explained, "They're keeping her in there. She's not conscious right now, an' they said she's lost a lot of blood, but she's stable and they'll be able to move her out of ICU once her levels are normal."

"Right then," Giles said, sounding particularly relieved. He removed his glasses and rubbing his temples, moved to take a seat in one of the chairs.

"So, what happened exactly?" Anya interrupted, looking as per usual, simultaneously baffled and expectant. "Buffy goes off on her own to dust two of them, and she gets put in the hospital? Maybe if it were a higher species of demon, but a _vampire_? For the _Vampire _Slayer that's highly unlikely, don't you think Xander?"

Xander gave Anya an uneasy smile, before turning his gaze to Spike. The only one who looked at him now with complete faith was Dawn. Tara kept quiet, as did Willow, although there was the mistrust in their eyes that had always been there. What did Spike expect? He was nothing to them but a monster; why _shouldn't_ this be his fault? Then again, why in the hell _should_ it? He hadn't forced James to come down to Sunnydale. To be blamed merely off of association was, even to him, complete bollocks.

"For the record," Spike began, feeling the need to justify himself under so many doubtful gazes, "_I _was the one who killed James. Buffy…." he paused, and could sense Dawn's expression darken at his next words, "Buffy got rid of Dru; she's out of the picture. For good. He just managed to get a nip in; I wasn't expecting it, and Buffy was already injured when I got there."

"What took you so long?" Xander sniped, his tone obviously irritated. "I mean, why didn't you just go to the cemetery and _help_ her instead of leaving her out there like a sitting duck?"

"Because _you_ bloody lot had all went and buggered off," Spike yelled, making a gesture to them. "With more than one vampire on the lookout for Nibblet, I was _hardly_ about to leave her alone in an unprotected house. Drusilla was insane," he added, "if she found her there, alone, she would have found a way to get Dawn out of the house and I'd be _damned_ to hell if I was going to let that happen. Do you understand _now_, you twit?"

Xander lowered his gaze, and Spike was still fuming. Dawn laced her fingers into his, and tugged him back, towards the waiting area. "I'm going to talk to him guys," she offered in fake cheerfulness. Spike allowed himself to be led away from the blithering trollops, and down towards the elevator. They stood in tense silence as they reached the main floor, and once Spike realized she was leading him outside, he followed with little need for encouragement.

The nicotine did nothing to quell the anger and unease inside of him. So Spike took another long drag before exhaling slowly. Leaning back against the cold cement bricks of the front of the Hospital, he stared out at the passing traffic on the streets not but fifteen feet away. Dawn stood, motionless beside him, her own eyes fixed to where his gaze seemed to be drawn.

"I don't blame you, Spike," Dawn said quietly after a moment. Spike couldn't help the indignant snort he gave, before shaking his head. Another frenzied drag, and as smoke wafted from his nostrils and mouth, he glanced from his dark shoes over to Dawn's own feet. She wore a regular pair of flip flops. For some reason, this mundane observation calmed him.

"If I had stayed with you, she would have been dead, you realize?" he answered quietly after a moment. "And I had wanted to stay, to protect you," he continued, and his voice broke. Jaw clenching, he tilted his face skywards and stared at the dismal black that expanded far, far above them.

"Spike," Dawn began carefully. Pushing herself from the wall, she turned to stand in front of him. Looking up at him, he caught the shimmering light of her eyes as they reflected the flashing reds and blues of the ambulances that drove by. "There isn't anything wrong for wanting to protect me. And I _was_ safe, with Giles and Willow and Tara. You did the right thing by going to help her. She wouldn't…" Dawn swallowed thickly, and Spike could see the tears gathering in her eyes. "I would have lost her again, if you hadn't done what you did."

Anger diminishing, Spike felt his own expression soften. Opening his arms, she took the invitation and fell into them. The peculiar aroma of their mixed scents surrounded him: leather, cigarettes and strawberries. Breathing in deeply the scent of her, he held her tightly to his chest, his cheek resting atop the crown of her head.

"Buffy is going to be fine," he re-assured her softly. "Right as rain," he added, determinedly. "She just needs a little time to heal…and James," he added, anger creeping back into his tone. "That bastard got more than a generously quick death. But he's gone now, and he won't be coming back. It's over Nibblet, there's nothing to worry about now."

Dawn clung to Spike, her face pressed up against his chest. Her heart no longer beat, but it hurt, to think of her sister lying alone on in a hospital room. Spike's arms were strong around her, and she didn't mind the overbearing scent of tobacco as he held her. Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, she did her best to hide the building sob that was making its way up, from somewhere very deep inside of her. Her shoulders began to shake, though, and Spike noticed right away. Fingers curling into her shoulders, he eased her back, away from him, to have a look. His blue eyes were narrowed, but filled with concern. Cool fingers brushed a tear rolling down her cheek, and he sighed.

"No need for tears, Pet, everything's alright now."

"Alright?" Dawn questioned doubtfully. True that to anyone other than themselves, the standards of 'alright' at this point were met. But the guilt hadn't dissipated inside of her. If she had let Spike stay with her, as he'd wanted to -as she'd wanted him too as well- it was plainly obvious that Buffy would not have survived the fight. Or, the possibility of it seemed low, considering the damage she had taken when having Spike to fight alongside her. What if she _hadn't_ let her consciousness natter away, annoy her to the point where she had ended up pleading with him to send her to Giles, or have him come watch her while he dealt with the Slayer?

He had flat out refused her first and second and third try but when her tears came and she started to cry hopelessly, he'd broken down and had no choice but to acquiesce her request.

Since the moment he had left her with Giles however, until the moment that the phone had rung, she had not been able to sit down once. Tension swam through her nerves, and she'd damned her inexperience for if she had any, she too could have gone along and fought beside them. But now her sister was lying in a hospital bed, unconscious and badly (although she wasn't sure to what extent, exactly) wounded. And every one of her sister's friends had looked at Spike as if _he'd_ been the one to put her there.

"It's not fair," she whispered, her eyes wandering over his face. For perhaps the millionth time, a swarm of butterflies exploded inside of her. Spike's expression was bleak, although it didn't keep him from looking any less handsome. His cigarette dangled from his lips, and his brows were drawn together, probably in response to her tears. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, he tossed it carelessly to the side before he slipped his fingers up to cup her face. She could feel her cheeks warm with the intensity of his stare, and his blue eyes seemed determined as he spoke.

"Life isn't fair, Dawn." A heavy sigh, and he dropped his hands. Glancing back over his shoulder towards the Hospital entrance, he grimaced before continuing. "Best we get back then. Wouldn't want the Scooby gang thinking I ran off with you, would we?"

"I wouldn't mind," Dawn found herself saying. Spike had already turned to head back into the Hospital, but at her words, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. His expression was peculiar a moment, before a familiar smirk, which Dawn found comforting, graced his lips. Extending a hand which she took gratefully, she fell in to step beside him. "All in good time, Pet," he reassured her.

While Dawn filled out the necessary admission forms and information required, Spike lingered by Buffy's room. To his misfortune, the rest of the Scooby gang had adopted the same idea. While he kept a respective distance (Giles was shooting him menacing glances from across the way) the hostility directed towards him from the others wasn't hard to miss. The only one who didn't look upon him with malice was Willow, who lingered quietly by Tara, their fingers interlocked. Her gaze remained on the ground. A sudden, unexplainable fondness consumed him then for the red headed witch. No matter their disputes, she had always quietly stepped back and refrained, unlike Xander, from making comments or judgements on matters pertaining to Spike and Buffy. Or Spike and Dawn. Or anything, really. For the most part, she kept to herself. He wasn't particularly sure if he was just sick of being ridiculed by everyone he came in to contact with, but her attitude did not go unappreciated.

"First he corrupts Buffy, and then he gets Dawn _killed_. Now Buffy nearly killed…_again_. It can't go on like this anymore."

Spike tilted his head as Xander grumbled under his breath to Giles. Anya clung to his arm and listened attentively, while Giles simply stood listening, and looking like someone had gone and shoved a cricket bat up his rectum. Spike stared at them openly, as Anya interjected a little louder than Xander had been speaking.

"Well, maybe it's a Summer's thing," she offered. "I mean, I've seen it before. Back when I was a vengeance demon, that is. I've cursed my fair share of vampires who've pitted siblings against one another in a completely hopeless and ridiculous love triangle. It never works out."

"Yes, quite," Giles responded, and his gaze turned to Spike. It did not waver as he continued, voice low but more than audible. "Buffy's behaviour can be attributed towards the rather…traumatic experiences she's gone through as of late." A pause, no doubt for effect, since Giles was rather dramatic like that. "Dawn is young, and clearly infatuated. It will pass."

"Right then," Spike couldn't help but snarl, adjusting himself from the slouch he had assumed. Xander looked startled as he addressed them, and Anya turned as well when he approached. Adjusting his duster, Spike stood his complete height before looking Giles squarely in the eye.

"You're the pathetic ones," he began, fists clenched, and voice shaking with barely contained emotion. "Judgemental, arrogant, obnoxious." Xander snorted but fell quiet when Spike suddenly turned on him. "I've done _plenty_ to help the Slayer time and time again. I've done my best to try and make you lot see that I'm _not_ the monster I used to be. People can change, an' I have. The fact that you can't see that, or refuse to see it, makes you incredibly _daft _and my bleeding sympathies go to Buffy and Nibblet for having to put up with you."

Turning sharply on his heel, he stalked out of the Hospital without saying good-bye to Dawn. She would come to him later, he knew that much. And if he stayed around those bloody fools any longer, someone would be paying for more than just a Hospital bill.

When he reached his crypt, he slammed the door open angrily and stalked towards his sad excuse for a couch. Sinking down onto it, he stared at the blank T.V before him. Now that he was alone, replayed what had transpired that night. Feeling his eyebrow, he grimaced as his fingers brushed a healing wound, before staring with distaste at the blood marring his digits. Wiping it off on his duster, he tilted his head back and stared at the cracked granite above him.

Buffy had killed Drusilla.

Thinking it to himself, absorbing the knowledge, he found, was rather difficult. Of course, while she had been stark raving mad and she signified a time in his life that he was more than happy to forget, for some reason Spike felt a peculiar emptiness at the thought of her permanent absence. She had been his sire, and his lover, for centuries. She had taught him the ways of the Vampire, and had eased the pain and rejection he'd felt while still Human and turned him in to something akin to a God. Well, back in the day, Spike had been his own kind of deity. Humans feared him, Demon's respected him, and he was highly talked about in plenty of towns and cities.

He wondered briefly, if she was at peace now. While he would admit to no one but himself that some part of him was going to miss her, he didn't feel sympathy for her death. Dru loved to walk on the wild side, as had he once upon a time. She didn't bother to follow the Human charade, and instead, she'd flourished as a demon. Taking what she wanted when she wanted, how she wanted. The world was her oyster. She'd had plenty of years to explore it and make it bend to her will; and bend, it had. Anyone who had crossed paths with her had been enthralled. Spike had fallen victim to her charms, as well. Living the way she lived however, what happened to her now wasn't as shocking as he'd thought it would be. If he were being entirely honest with himself, Spike was surprised she'd managed to stay about this long on her own. Clever as she was, if someone wanted to find Drusilla, all they would need to do was follow the trail of corpses she left in her wake.

"Dru, you twit," he said fondly to himself, before a small smile ghosted along his lips.

After Dawn had filled out the paper work, she had gone back to find that the group hovering around Buffy's door was absent one bleach blond vampire. Frowning in confusion, she toyed with her fingers before advancing further. The group had been chatting quietly amongst themselves, and they fell silent once she stood before them. Brows drawn together, she glanced from Willow to Anya, to Xander, who looked particularly guilty.

"Did Spike go out for another smoke?" she asked hopefully, although she already had an inkling as to why he was no longer present.

"Spike left, Dawn," Xander offered after a moments hesitation. "He had things to do. You know."

"Right," Dawn responded doubtfully, unable to hide the annoyance she felt. "He put his life on the line to help Buffy kill James, and carried her to the Hospital and just left. Because he has better things to do."

"Come now, Dawn," Giles interrupted in his most consoling voice.

"No," Dawn spat angrily. Giles blinked, looking mildly taken aback, before she demanded. "What's _wrong_ with all of you?" Voice trembling, she could feel the burn behind her lids as tears tried to free themselves. "Why do you always have to treat him like he's garbage? He's trying his _best_ to be accepted by you guys, and you won't even bother to look at everything good he's done. Just the mistakes he's made."

"Come on, Dawn," Xandera began feebly. "You know it's not like that."

"Really?" Anya asked, looking mildly confused. "I thought that was exactly what we were doing."

"An'," Xander pleaded. "Not helping."

"Well it doesn't matter anymore anyway," Dawn continued bitterly. "When Buffy is able to come home, I'm leaving with him. And we're not coming back."

A thick silence consumed them, and Dawn could feel her face flush crimson as five pairs of eyes settled on her. Giles cleared his throat, breaking the silence, before frowning.

"Beg pardon?" he asked quietly.


	20. Final Decision

" I said," Dawn began, anger building inside of her, "that once Buffy is awake, and home, we're leaving Sunny Dale. And we're not coming back."

"Like hell you are," Giles blanched, his expression nothing but incredulous. "You're mad if you think we'd let you off on your own like that, and with _Spike,_ no less." There was a pregnant pause, before his brows furrowed. Glancing to the others, Giles rubbed his temples before stepping closer. Lowering his voice, he asked, "You _must_ be joking…?"

"What makes you think I'm joking?" Dawn cried, blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay. Slowly, she turned her eyes from Giles to the others, before coming to rest on Xander. "Everybody has a past," she growled, as her liquid eyes focused on Anya. "I don't see any of you penalizing _her _for the things she's done."

"Now, Dawn," Xander began awkwardly, resting a hand alongside Anya's shoulder, "That's different."

"No, it's not!" Dawn snapped, and to her dismay, the dam broke. Several nurses who walked by observed the exchange with concern, as tears began to roll down her cheeks. "You're all such hypocrites," she fumed, backing away. "Unforgiving, self righteous, hypocrites. Who _wouldn't_ want to leave?" Whirling on her heel, she turned and stalked down the hall. She half expected them to follow her as she marched with purpose towards the elevator, but was relieved when she made it inside without pursuit. The metal doors slid closed, encompassing her in momentary silence, and she struggled to make order of the jumbled thoughts in her mind which were beginning to pile up.

At this point, she didn't want to wait until Buffy was well. Despite her guilt, Dawn knew she would heal, and be home within several days, if that. It would be smart for them to leave that same night, while the others were distracted and Buffy couldn't track them down. She didn't know if Spike would agree to that, however. A sense of dread at the thought of him saying no, or the possibility that he could have changed his mind, made her chest tight. Chewing nervously on a thumbnail, she lowered her gaze as she reached the main floor and stepped off the elevator and headed towards the entrance. Dawn was beginning to suspect she would never be free; and what was she now? A vampire, forever eternal, and forever a child, in her sisters eyes. What would it take, to get away?

The outside had cooled off since she had been with Spike not but half an hour earlier, and her eyes lingered on the spot where they had stood. Trepidation roiled inside of her, knotting her insides and causing bile to rise in her throat. Would he say no to her? Would he deny her the one thing she wanted now, the most? She couldn't imagine him condemning her to live out the rest of _their_ life spans in Sunny Dale. She didn't want to watch her sister die (_again_) and this time, there would be no coming back. It was best to leave now and forget about them; but could Spike to do that? Her step faltered, and she hugged herself before continuing down the sidewalk. She didn't even know if _she_ could.

He wasn't surprised when he heard the knock on the door. It didn't surprise him to find the Bit standing there, either. She fell against him the second there was enough room, and he crushed her to him in an almost desperate embrace. Her scent surrounded him, and the feel of her hair against his cool skin was near to heavenly. Her arms, which wrapped about his torso in much a comforting way, hugged him back just as tightly with a new strength that belied her slight frame.

"We have to leave tonight," she whispered, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt, and the hardness of his chest. Spike blinked, registering what she had said, before slowly easing away from her. Hands on her shoulders, he gently pulled her from him so that he could meet her gaze with one of his own. His eyes wandered over her delicate features, trying to catch something, _anything_ to suggest she wasn't entirely serious. But her liquid stare was even, and the firm set of her jaw did not slacken the longer he looked.

"Why now, Platelet?"

"There's nothing here anymore," she responded quickly, and Spike was under the impression that this had been something she'd recently decided. "for either of us. I'm fine, Buffy is fine, everyone is _fine_. So," she hesitated, and she dropped her gaze to look down at her fingers, which she was nervously flexing. "So let's just go. We can start over. It's for the best." Another pause, and this time when she spoke, it was almost pleading, and Spike's undead heart gave a particular jerk. "It's what I want. To be with you, just us."

"But where will we go?" Spike questioned, curious as to whether she'd thought that far. Her determined expression blanched, and he smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. "Alright," he said with a nod, turning to look about for his duster. He snatched it up, and shrugged it on before smoothing back his hair. "You're right," he continued, doing his best to don a cocky grin, "the deadly duo has caused enough trouble 'round here, I reckon. Long overdue to have a look elsewhere."

"Really?" Dawn asked, and her brightened, hopeful expression warmed Spike's heart and helped ease the slight dread that was working its way inside of him. He had wanted to take her away from here, start fresh, so why did the thought of leaving so suddenly bother him? It couldn't be Buffy…although he admitted to himself if he were to leave tonight, he would regret not having to be able to seen her awake and well again. But to what purpose? He had committed himself to Dawn; he _wanted_ Dawn, and he would never hurt her again like he had done. If she wanted to escape and lose herself in the world, who was he to deny her? No, he would go with her, be with her, as she grew accustomed to her new vampire nature. She would truly flourish, he would see to that, and he would make sure that she never doubted for a second that she was loved. And, when the time was right, and he knew it would come, there was always a time when it did-they would find their way back here, to Sunny Dale, and she would see it through new eyes.

"How are we going to leave?" Dawn questioned, following Spike as he made his way down into the lower quarters of his crypt. She poked her head around the corner, while he rummaged through a pile of trinkets. He unzipped a duffel bag, and finding the safe he had been looking for under a stack of old maps and things of that sort, he knelt to unlock it. He heard her advance in to the room, and goose bumps rose along his shoulders as she leaned over him and her hair brushed the side of his face, like feather-light kisses. Momentarily distracted, he glanced back down to the safe.

"A back up plan," he explained, withdrawing generous amounts of neatly piled bills. Dawn's eyes widened, and he grinned at her surprise. "What?" he asked, with mock hurt as he emptied the contents of the safe into the duffel bag. "That's just a lot of money," Dawn answered, stepping back as he rose to his feet. "Like, _a lot_."

"You're damn right it is," Spike said, pleased. "Just because I live in shambles doesn't mean I'm a poor man. Can't judge a book by his cover."

Dawn looked startled, before vehemently shaking her head. "No," she began lifting her hands in protest, "I would never…"

"I'm teasing, love," Spike grinned, warmed by her reaction. "Having a bit of fun is all. Don't look so serious." He lifted a hand and brushed the skin of her cheek with the backs of his fingers. As soon as he touched her though, the atmosphere changed suddenly, and Dawn's smile slowly slipped from her face. Spike watched her a moment, before stepping closer, and registering the change in his attitude, she tilted her head back. He nearly groaned. The sight of her pale throat was still something to be admired, and her blatant submission to him instantly made him hungry for her. The duffel bag dropped to the ground, sending up a small but unnoticed plume of dust, and he cupped her face in his hands.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Dawn?" he asked, their lips mere inches apart. He stared at her, her large, grey eyes like liquid pools, fixated upon his mouth. Her eyelashes swept along her pale cheeks, and slowly, torturously she slid her hands up along his front before wrapping her arms around his neck. She began to answer, but Spike was beyond patience. Cutting her words off, he took her mouth in a rough kiss, his fingers slipping into her hair. She had to stand on the tips of her toes to return the kiss, which made Spike growl in appreciation before he scooped her up with little effort, and pinned her against the wall.

"Spike," she squeaked as he nipped at her lips, before moving down her jaw to the side of her throat. His hands skimmed her sides, and he held her in place with his hips while his fingers slipped upwards and explored the gentle slope of her breasts through her shirt. His name turned into a low, guttural moan, and he rocked his hips against hers. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms taut as she tried to keep her balance.

"I'm not gonna' let you fall, Dawny," he rasped mockingly, his voice different even to his own ears. It was low, animalistic, and did nothing to disguise the want he felt for her. She started to protest, but before she could voice a complaint or worry, he reasoned it better to make her as comfortable as possible. Turning, he spun her around and dropped her back on to his bed, before quickly pulling himself atop of her small frame. He grinned as her eyes widened, and dipping his head, bit one of her hips before slipping his cool fingers under her shirt. Dawn's skin was like silk, soft and impossibly smooth. He loved the way she smelled; not jut the strawberry scent that lingered around her hair, but her natural scent as well. Like this, with his nose pressed to her belly button, he could discern between her shampoo and the enticing, almost spicy aroma she gave off as her skin warmed. And it tasted good as it smelled. He took his time kissing upwards, along her ribs, the underside of her breasts. Nipping and licking his way up to her collarbones, as his hands slipped up to touch the places he'd just left with his lips. His mouth was watering, and he ached for her, but even her first time, he hadn't done much.

"Spike," she moaned, her breath hot against his ear as he hooked a finger through her panties. His lips pulled back into a devilish grin alongside her throat, before he nipped at the tender flesh there. He gave a gentle tug, and she lifted her hips obediently, and the fabric joined the rest of her clothes, and his, on the floor.

"What is it, pet?" he mused, as she repeated his name. The way she said it had a peculiar effect on him, and he reckoned if she kept saying it like that he could damn well go on for eternity. She clawed at his back, her nails digging in to the skin, as he pressed the front of his body against hers entirely. Skin to skin, she was burning for him, and Spike was thrilled.

"Please," she whimpered in frustration, and she lifted her hips against his to emphasise what she was asking for.

He was driving her mad, and she was beyond worry or care. The pleas fell from her lips in small, incoherent pants, although Spike knew exactly what she wanted. Her skin felt as if it were on fire, and if he took any more time with his hands or mouth, she didn't know if she would be able to hold on any longer. To her pleasure, however, he finally pulled apart her knees, and she let them fell to either side with no difficulty. His pale eyes were burning as he fixed them on her face, and his biceps were taut as he suspended himself above her. She held her breath-waiting for it, as his skin settled along hers, mercifully cool, before he slowly slipped inside of her.

This was different from the last time, or even her first time. Spike was gentle, and took his time as he rocked inside of her. He paused, once he'd managed to fill her to the brim, and allowed her several seconds to adjust to his girth. When her body relaxed, he smirked, before pulling her legs up. She let out a small noise of surprise, and her brows furrowed in curiosity when he hooked his fingers behind her knees and pulled them up, to rest her legs on his shoulders. Dawn was rather nimble, and the position was comfortable to her as his hands dropped back down to the mattress.

"What're you doing?" she asked breathlessly. He didn't answer her with a verbal response, but his expression melted into a wicked grin before angling his hips, and giving another thrust forward. Instantly, her nerves came to life, and her back arched off the bed almost involuntarily.

"Feels good, then?" Spike asked, dipping his head to nip at her lips. Dawn couldn't find words as he fell into a slow, steady rhythm. To her embarrassment, as his thrusts grew more rough, and he continued to hit that _spot_, the soft noises that escaped her turned into louder, "_Oh my God,_"s and other noises. Spike seemed to enjoy them, and he paid attention to each different sound, discerning by the type and volume, what felt better for her. It wasn't long before she was moaning his name in abandon, and her thighs began to tense as the pressure in her lower belly continued to grow, and grow.

"Right there?" Spike asked, cocking his head, as her breath hitched. He leaned back and fingers curling around her hips, used them to help with the momentum of his thrusts. She couldn't be embarrassed by the absolute, all-consuming stare that was fixated on her, and not a second before her nerves collectively seized and she began to orgasm, she tore at the sheets and locked gazes with him.

"I'm gonna…" she gasped, "I'm gonna…"

"That's it," he growled, and leaning forward suddenly, he caught her lips in a kiss and slamming his hips forward, brought her over the edge. Dawn wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers curling in his damp hair, as he too, joined her, every muscle in his body tensing, before he collapsed atop her.

The air was heavy with their mixed scents, and Dawn could feel nothing but a lazy euphoria creeping over her as Spike lifted his head to reign kisses down along the side of her neck and collarbone, before making his way back to her lips. This kiss was slow, and they took their time exploring one another's mouths, Spike coercing her lips to open, and his tongue danced with hers, before he groaned. For a brief moment, she was alarmed when he pulled away, but he smiled at her, a look of astonishment on his features. Running his hand over his face, he exhaled heavily, before casting a glance around the room, where the pile of their clothes lay, with the open duffel bag.

Standing, Spike stretched, and Dawn hid her blush when presented with his more than perfect backside. He grinned when he realized what she was looking at, and she quickly lifted his gaze when he outstretched his hands. Pulling her to her feet, he crushed her against him, and she could feel her face warm. It was peculiar to be entirely exposed, and pressed flush against him like this. When they were having sex, she didn't think about it, but now, it was something else.

He brushed his fingers along her hair, before kissing her forehead.

"Well then," he said quietly, his voice sober. Steeling herself, she turned her face from his chest and shyly lifted her eyes to peer through her lashes at him. "Shall we get going?"


	21. Forever is a L ong Time

_Buffy, _

_I'm sorry it had to be this way, and I hope that some day you will forgive me. I hope that someday we can talk again, but the time isn't now, and I don't know when it will be. Please don't look for me when you find this letter. We won't be in Sunny Dale anymore._

_I've kept the ring, Spike told me it's what you wanted. I'm safe, and I know Spike will take good care of me. _

_Don't be mad at him, either._

_This was my decision _

_Dawn_

With trembling fingers, Buffy read and re-read Dawn's familiar script. It was a peculiar mixture between a childish scrawl and that of an adult. The curves of her letters were generous, and the sweep wide, much like their mothers. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she struggled with the conflicting emotions inside of her. She had been home for two days, and the letter had been left in the mail box. Her first instinct had been to go storming to the cemetery, positive this had been some sort of trick or cruel joke. When she had slammed the door to Spike's crypt open and found it empty, her knees had given out and she'd sunk to the floor in near hysterics.

Alerting the others, she was infuriated to discover that Dawn had warned them of her disappearance. Much like Buffy would have done however, they had simply brushed off her words and dismissed them, chalking it up to anger and frustration about the situation at hand. Giles had sat with her in the kitchen that night, and while she had stared, dry-eyed at the letter, much like she was doing now, did his best to offer comfort, and a plan of action.

"Where would they go?" Buffy had asked quietly, before smoothing the letter out along the surface of the table. Her hands shook noticeably, and slowly, she withdrew them and placed them in her lap, out of sight. Giles adjusted his glasses, and the pity in his gaze was hard to miss, before his eyes fell to the letter.

"I'm not sure," he replied carefully, steeping his fingers together. Brows furrowed, he had closed his eyes as if in thought, and Buffy could remember sitting there, watching him, completely at a loss. Dawn had taken all of her things; every piece of clothing, down to her mirror, jewellery, shoes, and socks. Her comforters were gone, as were her pillows. Buffy doubted she had actually taken _everything_ with her, but because of this, Willow couldn't use a tracking spell. Spike had done the same with his things, although there were less possessions on a greater scale for him to get rid of. It was a clever move, and Spike had no doubt been the one to suggest it. Dawn wasn't stupid, but she was a bit of a scatterbrain, and it was uncharacteristic of her to go to such lengths to cover their tracks.

This meant that they were serious, and Buffy was given two options and two options only. She could either accept the fact that she had ultimately forced Dawn in to this position, and leave her alone to explore the world with Spike, or she could leave Sunny Dale in pursuit of her. Guilt tugged at her as she took the second option in to consideration. Dawn had more or less asked her to let her go; let her leave, to be free. The protective, older sister in her wanted to throw everything down at once and begin the search, but she knew as well that she had other duties to perform. Spike was smart, and if he didn't want to be found, he had at least a hundred years or more of experience than she. Leaving Sunny Dale in pursuit of Dawn could and probably would prove to be a fruitless effort and a waste of time. Spike would keep her safe, she knew that much.

Aggravated, she let out a deep sigh before sinking into a chair by the kitchen table.

Cradling her head in her hands, she closed her eyes and tried to picture the last time she had seen Dawn with her own eyes. Smiling, maybe? Or had they fought? Her memory was still hazy, and even now, she was still recovering from the damage James and Drusilla had done to her, even gifted with the mystical powers of the Slayer. Their relationship had never been fantastic, although she had assumed it was such with all sisters. They had their ups and downs, and since their mother died, it had been extra stressful and put even more of a strain on their relationship. Buffy was not mother material, and to assume the role of caregiver atop her Slayer duties, added with the sudden financial burden of near bankruptcy…

Had she failed Dawn?

It was hard to take in, all at once, that in such a short span of time so many drastic things had happened, and their lives were so incredibly different. She was alone, for now, the rest of the Scooby Gang having wandered off to their own respective places out of respect and an inkling that Buffy was hankering for some privacy. The silence was stifling, however, and the longer she stared at the letter, the more desperate she felt. Swallowing thickly, she rose abruptly, almost knocking the chair over. Turning towards the phone in the kitchen, she dialled Giles' number, and rocked anxiously back on her heels while waiting for him to pick up.

"Good afternoon," came his soft, professional lilt, "Thank you for calling The Magick Box, Giles speaking. How may I help you?"

"It's me," Buffy stated, and the tone in Giles voice changed instantly.

"Oh, Buffy, how are you?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, chewing on her thumb. She glanced around the empty kitchen. The clock ticking in the background, the sun shining through the window. Everything seemed so abnormally mundane. It was almost painful.

"I'm not going to look for her," she blurted suddenly. Her words surprised even her, and she held her breath as she waited for Giles' response.

"Pardon?"

"I said, I'm not going to look for her, Giles," she repeated more firmly. "I've thought about it. I've been thinking about it non stop, ever since I found the letter…"

"Well, what do you propose we do?" Giles asked, lowering his voice, "and what am I to tell the others?"

"Don't tell them!" Buffy exclaimed, before adding quickly, "I mean, it's my decision, I think I should let everyone know."

"And you're sure? _Absolutely_ positive, Buffy? This is a very serious decision.."

"We've all been through hell," she interjected, waving her hand nervously in the air, despite the fact he wouldn't be able to see. "And Dawn, especially.. I don't know when.." she took a steadying breath, before continuing, "I don't know when things changed between her and Spike, but everything is _so_ different now. She's with him, and she has the ring, and if anything I know Spike will protect her with his life. Maybe…maybe being away from Sunny Dale will be good for her. Safer."

Giles huffed, and she could envision him removing his glasses and cleaning them meticulously, while balancing the receiver between his ear and shoulder.

"I'm at a loss for words," he finally said, and the finality in his tone sobered Buffy some, making the weight of the decision she'd just made seem even more heavy. "Ultimately, it's up to you, and how you wish to proceed with things."

"I have other things to focus on," Buffy cut in, determinedly. "She is with Spike, and she'll be safe. I know it."

"For your sake, Buffy, I hope you're right."

Dawn drifted in and out of sleep the first few days of their journey. Spike had procured a vehicle, and despite it's painted black windows to keep the sun at bay, the inside was particularly luxurious and she could melt into the plush leather seating. She hid, in the back, and slept under blankets. Well out of the way of the sun, she had insisted that Spike wear the ring during the days, more so for his comfort than anything else, and after a brief argument he had agreed, solely because she wanted it so. They had driven through California, through Nevada and the Utah, and when Dawn awoke one evening, Spike had informed her that they had just crossed in to Colorado. They were going to take a train to Illinois, and once they'd arrived there, they caught a red-eye to France.

Travelling was a little difficult, given the sensitive nature of their condition, but they had managed, and when Dawn had been confused as to why they couldn't have caught a plane in the first place, Spike had simply smiled before taking her hand.

"We're on the run, Pet," he'd explained with an impish grin. "Half the fun is coverin' your tracks. Besides," he'd added, lowering his voice, "if your sister catches up to us, she'll have my bloody head. An' probably yours, at that."

Why France, Dawn didn't know, but the excitement bubbled inside of her as they dismounted the plane and entered the receiving area of the Charles De Gaulle Paris International Airport. The entire terminal was wide, and the roof arched, and Dawn found it pleasing to the eye. The red interior drew her attention as well, and as she stood taking everything in at once, Spike had gently taken her by the elbow and drawn her to the side. "See those?" he had asked, pointing to the large array of windows scattered along the wall. It was nearly light outside, and a pale glow had started to fill the terminal, accompanied by the soft glow of the luminescent bulbs above.

"Sun's comin' up," he said, almost ruefully. "Much as I'd love to show you 'round our first day, it's best if we get on, somewhere safe."

"Where are we going to stay?" Dawn asked, feeling much like a child as he guided her through the sleepy airport towards the baggage area.

"Was tough, but I pulled a few strings," he explained as he grabbed the few things they had brought with them. "There's a city close to here, Goussainville. We'll be staying there for a short while with a friend, while I find us something better. It' about forty minutes from here. If we make it fast we'll be there before sunrise."

They had stepped outside, and Spike had slipped the ring of Amara back on to her finger. She could tell he was slightly uncomfortable as he flagged down a cab. He spoke in French to the driver, which surprised her-she didn't know he could speak any other languages, although it was naïve of her to assume otherwise. He was how old? He'd had plenty of time to learn. The drive as promised, was a little lengthy, and even though she enjoyed the scenery as they made their way to their destination, she was worried as the sun began to climb higher.

The door to a large, stone building opened wide and only after one knock. A large man with bright yellow eyes greeted them; Spike addressed him as Louis, and she had shaken his hand if not somewhat timidly.

"She is enchanting," Louis had said in English, for Dawn's benefit. His home was large, and lavishly furnished. Best of all, it was dark. He led them down in to a basement, with a low ceiling, and as Spike set their bags down, he exchanged words with him in French before leaving them to be alone.

The room was dimly lit, but she could already tell it was decorated in good taste. The carpet was thick and burgundy, all the furniture plush and in matching, complimenting hues. There were no windows, but a fireplace on the far wall give a gentle glow, as if already expecting them, and instantly she felt at home.

She wandered to the couch and ran her fingers along the back; he was delighted to find it was made of velvet and soft to the touch. Taking a deep breath to steady herself more than anything, she turned to Spike. He had shrugged out of his coat, and thrown it along one of the chairs, and was watching her as if to gauge her reaction. Her gaze followed the tense line of his shoulder down the curve of his bicep, and slowly as she lifted her eyes to meet his, the realization that they were _here_, they had done it, and that they were free to be together and do as they wish, suddenly seized her with such clarity she sank to her backside on the carpet.

"Dawn?" Spike asked, sounding alarmed. He came over to kneel in front of her, and lifting her face, his brows furrowed when he realized she was crying.

"We're actually here!" she whispered, absolutely giddy. Spike's expression eased, and he cupped her face in-between his hands.

"We are," he said softly, and his lips curled up in to an impish smile. "And we're together, and we have all the time in the world to do whatever we like."

Throwing her arms around him, she knocked him backwards and he let out a small laugh. Inhaling deeply his familiar scent, she nestled her face in to his throat and pressed her lips to his skin. He grew quiet, and her arms tightened around him as his encircled her waist.

"I love you," she whispered, and he turned to press a kiss to her temple.

"I love you," he responded with sincerity.

"I can't wait to spend forever with you," she said softly, after a moment of quiet. She could almost see Spike smiling although she didn't lift her eyes, and his embrace tightened around her as he nuzzled the crown of her hair.

"Forever's a long time, Pet," he mused, "I reckon you'll get sick of The Big Bad sooner or later."

"Never!" she exclaimed vehemently, lifting her head in surprise. His blue eyes were sparkling, and his grin gave her Goosebumps before he leaned foreword and seized her lips in a long, meaningful kiss. Slowly, he pulled away, and they watched one another before he murmured around a smirk, "I'll hold you to that."

**END**


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